


I Don't Belong Here

by 4lw4ys_a_fri3nd_n3v3r_a_l0v3r



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Stiles, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crazy Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Dimension Travel, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is Dead, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Undeath, Parallel Universes, Suicidal Thoughts, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4lw4ys_a_fri3nd_n3v3r_a_l0v3r/pseuds/4lw4ys_a_fri3nd_n3v3r_a_l0v3r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles went to sleep in a town he had gotten used to.  Now something is deeply wrong because now he has awoken in a town he doesn't remember anymore.  And he can't figure out why.</p>
<p>Lydia went to sleep last night, knowing Stiles had died five years ago.  But something is wrong because now he's standing in the middle of the street, looking like he just crawled out of a grave.</p>
<p>Something is wrong, because Stiles?   Isn't supposed to be here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to get back into writing fanfiction. I read a book earlier called 'The Storm', the second in a series about an apocalypse. The step brother in it died, and that's where I got this idea from.
> 
> This first chapter I'm trying to make a little confusing, raise questions about what's happening. Hopefully, once I get this up and running, I will be able to return to my other fanfictions, _I Know That Look_ in particular
> 
> Tags will be updated as the fanfiction is.
> 
> _**EDIT 02/05/2015:**_ Removed the **Major Character Death** warning because no one dies in the actual fic

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Stiles felt it the moment he woke up. In fact, it was what woke him up. He could sense it under his skin, a prickling sensation, that something was just deeply wrong. Perhaps it was the color of the sky that he opened his eyes to. It was bright and blue and there were wisps of cloud here and there but the sun was shining brightly, burning his eyes.

It was warm too. Like properly warm. The kind of warm that you could stretch out in the backyard to tan, with a nice smile on your face and a cool drink in your hand, but not so warm that you were sweating and flapping books at your face, flopping around to try and find some release, any release, from the heat.

And the noise! Kids laughing, screaming, as they scrambled over the playground Stiles had chosen to sleep in, parents chattering, the sound of an ice-cream van, and…church bells tolling the hour faintly. The smell of ice cream, and baking cakes from the shop across the road and…was that a bee? God, Stiles hadn’t seen one in…

Perhaps the most telling feature that something was wrong was that last night, he had broken into a house, stolen a mattress (if it had even been possible to steal from someone who was probably dead), dragged it downstairs and outside, into this park to sleep on and now that mattress was gone.

No one had taken it from him. He was too light a sleeper to even let anyone get that close, never mind roll him off his mattress and take off with it. And Stiles had his backpack, sitting right next to him while he slept. Why take the mattress but not his pack? Plus Stiles knew for a fact that Beacon Hills had been deserted last night. It had been deserted for months, years even. There was no one to actually take his mattress.

So something was wrong. Stiles just couldn’t quite figure it out.

Well, he could figure it out, he thought as he sat up in the park, in the same spot he had fallen asleep, under the same tree, except it was tall and covered in leaves. Somehow, for some reason, he had been thrown into the past. But there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

As he exited the undergrowth he’d been sleeping in, backpack in hand, he suddenly became aware of stares and murmurs of shock. Probably because they hadn’t noticed him sleeping there in the first place. He curled up tight and small, wearing camouflage clothing and hiding under the remnants of bushes that were now in full flower.

Then he realized he also looked a mess. His appearance had fallen low on his list of priorities near the beginning and he’d crossed it off completely some years back. He still cut his hair and washed when he could, but it wasn’t a big thing anymore. The only reason he still paid attention to those things was because he needed to see unimpaired and he hated the itchiness from needing a wash.

His clothes were filthy, dried mud flaking on the material, torn and faded, because he hadn’t replaced them in a long time. Bloody as well, because it wasn’t like he got around unscathed.

He stumbled away from the park. It was too bright, he thought, too bright to what he was used to. And too crowded. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had been in a crowd so large. So many people. It was claustrophobic, which, at the same time, was the greatest feeling he’d ever experienced. Or, at least, the greatest thing he’d experienced in years.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was going. He was trying, mostly, to get away from the park. Organizing his thoughts seemed harder than it normally did, but he was thrown by the sudden visit into the past. How could this be? How could it have happened?

 _No_ , he shook his head. _Stop. You don’t know for sure you’re in the past._ That was stupid. Where else would he be? _Find a way to confirm this and then we’ll work from there._

How do you confirm the date when your own watch is set something like five years into the future and probably wrong from all the times you’ve forgotten to reset it or change the date?

Newspapers. Daily newspapers would have the date of the day they came out. There was a small grocery store just down the road. They would have newspapers.

Stiles was there last night, strangely enough. He felt a need to be there but when he got there, he had no idea why. He did remember gazing at a few newspapers and magazines. The 'newest' newspaper – well, the last newspaper that had ever been delivered to Beacon Hills - had the date _5 August 2014_.

So today’s newspaper – today being in the past – should have a date roughly around the same time. Maybe even much earlier, if it hadn’t happened yet.

Stiles, for some reason or other, perhaps sentiment or just because he was weird, still had his wallet. In his backpack. It still had his ID, his bank cards, his money, the very same money he’d been carrying when…Point is, he still had money, enough to purchase a newspaper. At least to confirm the date. And then he would figure out where to go from there.

He moved slowly into the shop, keeping his gaze on the floor. He started to maneuver around the shop, only to bump into a display because the store was actually intact, not raided like he remembered it, with fallen shelves and overturned magazine stands. He glanced up to see the shop owner staring at him sharply, like he thought Stiles was here to steal.

Stiles shifted and headed for the newspapers. He grabbed one without looking for it and shuffled to the counter, fumbling for his wallet. It had been so long since he’d bought something. He swallowed, his mouth dry, mostly from not having had a drink since before bed. The cashier looked a mixture of bored and suspicious as he scanned the newspaper. Stiles grabbed a couple of coins, enough to cover it, and then scrambled from the shop, wanting out of there before something went bad. Well, worse than it already had.

The newspaper crumpled in his fingers. _No, no._

It was wrong, it had to be, it must be. This had to be a vivid dream…or some kind of nightmare. He would wake up. If he pinched himself.

_10 Sept 2019._

Stiles allowed a brief moment of pride at the fact that, despite forgetting to reset his watch on various occasions until a few days later, at which point he’d guessed on the date and the time, he’d been accurate enough for his watch to only be two days behind.

Then it was replaced by panic and fear and confusion about _how the fuck was he not in the past?_

It was the only logical explanation. Why else would everyone be back, why would they be here, like they used to be, if he wasn’t in the past?

Was that a panic attack? Yes, it was. And despite panicking, so badly he was on the verge of having an attack – another thing he hadn’t experienced in a long time – he was somewhat calm. Perhaps it was the familiarity of a panic attack. Lately, he’d been feeling a bit like, well, a zombie, for lack of a better word, and to know that he could still panic himself to an attack, well…

He stopped walked, pressing his hands to his chest. The heavy newspaper landed with a heavy thud at his feet. He closed his eyes, stopped listening to the world and tried to count. He remembered, he used to count with his dad. That made it hurt worse but he kept at it. He tried to say the numbers, speak them but he didn’t have the air in his lungs to say it properly, even though it felt like he had too much.

He stood, in the middle of his street, fighting off a panic attack. He couldn’t panic, didn’t want to. You don’t panic in a situation like this, that makes it worse. You stay calm and try to figure out just what the fuck is going on.

Sometime later, he wasn’t sure how much later, minutes or hours, but sometime later, he felt well enough to open his eyes.

Mistake. Big mistake.

_5 foot 3, green eyes, fair-skinned, and her hair is actually strawberry blonde._

Her face was white, too. As white as he felt. White with shock. Like he felt.

Big mistake.

“Stiles?” she said, and her voice was so comforting, so beautiful, but it was weird too. It was high and a bit squeaky and full of disbelief like she couldn’t believe he was there.

Maybe he still wasn’t breathing properly, because his vision was going dim.

“Stiles?” she repeated, even higher, like she was panicking.

Stiles drew in a ragged breath. It hurt. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel the ground. He felt like he was flying.

“Stiles!” she screamed, and it cut him to the core.

Then it went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To refer back to the last chapter, the fifth of August is my birthday.
> 
> This chapter can be mildly confusing. So here goes: Any sentences in _italics_ are Stiles' thoughts. Stiles has been on his own for a long time and got lonely and perhaps a little crazy and started talking to himself. He doesn't understand why everyone seems to be replying to his 'thoughts', or looking at him weirdly, because he doesn't realize he's saying those parts out loud.
> 
> He has a couple of conversations with himself and those people in the room can hear both sides, while he can thinks they can only hear one.
> 
> He will begin a descent into sanity, as he has people around him, because he's not really crazy, he's just lonely.
> 
> Any words italicized in the middle of sentences are emphasized, he's not saying those words in his head.

When Stiles opened his eyes, he felt a little less muddled. He was staring at a ceiling that he recognized to be Deaton’s and relief spread through him. Maybe it wasn’t where he had fallen asleep, but he was known to sleep walk and-

_Wait a minute._

That ceiling was way too clean and way too bright. He narrowed his eyes and flicked them to the left, where the ceiling light burned his eyes. Electricity was a thing of the past.

_Guess that throws the nightmare out the window._

He turned his head. Lydia was there, her strawberry blonde hair swinging down her back, looking worried as she spoke hurriedly to…

_Deaton._

They turned to look at him. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. There was a silence, a strange silence as they all regarded each other.

“Stiles?” Lydia said tentatively. “Is that you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stiles replied stiffly. “Who else would I be?”

“Stiles,” Deaton reached for him and Stiles eyed him warily, shifting away. “Do you know where you are?”

“That is a very good question,” Stiles replied. _Beacon Hills? It looks like Beacon Hills, it just doesn’t look like the **right** Beacon Hills. Does that count as knowing where you are?_

“You are in Beacon Hills,” Deaton nodded. “Do you know who we are?”

 _Strawberry blonde._ “Lydia. Deaton.” _I remember your teeth vividly._

“What?” Deaton frowned.

“What?” Stiles looked at him. “I remember who you are.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Before I collapsed in the middle of the street?”

“When you woke up this morning,” Deaton clarified. Stiles’ gaze jumped to Lydia, who slipped out the room. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Going to sleep,” Stiles replied, rather unhelpfully, but since he still didn’t know what was going on, he was wary about answering.

Deaton folded his arms, not happy with his answer. The door opened behind him.

_Well, fuck._

“Stiles,” Scott looked like he was barely holding back his tears. “I can’t believe it’s you. I thought-I thought I’d never see you again.”

_Ditto._

“I can’t believe you’re actually sitting there. I can’t believe,” Scott shook his head. “It’s been five years. Five years since…” 

_Three and a half._

“And now you’re sitting there, looking like nothing happened.” 

_Liar. I know how I look._

“Honestly,” Lydia had reappeared behind Scott, “you look like you crawled out of a grave.” 

Scott shot her a look over his shoulder and she fell quiet. Stiles frowned. 

“Stiles,” Scott reached for him then hesitated. “Do you know remember what happened?” 

“Which part?” Stiles folded his arms. _Derek? Dad? Lydia? You? Like I could ever forget._

Scott opened his mouth, looking confused. 

“That part where you died,” a new voice said. Stiles went cold inside. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” _Calm down._ “Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down.” _You’ll end up having another panic attack._ “Good.” _Not good. Panicking not good. Stay calm and figure out what the fuck is going on._ “Don’t you dare use my words against me.” 

They were looking at him like he was crazy. _What, never seen someone talk to themselves before?_

“Stiles,” Deaton started to say. 

Stiles ripped away with a shout. _Screaming is always good for anger._ “Fuck you!” he yelled at no one in particular. “Don’t you think I’ve been through enough!?” 

“Stiles, calm down,” Scott shouted, but Stiles barreled over him. 

“Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you, huh? What did any of us do to you?” 

_Maybe you are crazy._

“Screw you,” he snapped. “I am allowed to lose it a little bit. I have been through too much to face this like a _fucking_ zombie!” 

_But you are a fucking zombie. Or you like to act like one._

“Last night,” he finally directed his words towards the four other people in the room, “I broke into a house and stole a mattress. A whole house of food and drink and I steal a _mattress_. What the hell, right?” 

_How do you steal from a dead guy?_ “We don’t know he was dead.” _What else would he be?_ “Lots of things. He could have left, lots of people left.” _You’re fooling yourself._

Stiles chose to ignore that last statement and returned his attention to the people in his room. “This morning I wake up and my mattress is gone. Where did my mattress go? No one took it, they wouldn’t have gotten close enough. And why take my mattress and not my backpack.” 

_Which is where?_

“Where’s my pack?” he asked but Scott and Lydia and Deaton and _him_ were starting to talk.

“Some kind of afterlife?” Scott suggested.

“Not heaven or hell,” Deaton shook his head.

 _In Supernatural, Dean went to purgatory._

“Could be,” Scott looked at him. 

“Could be what?” Stiles frowned. _This isn’t a TV show_. 

“Purgatory,” Scott continued, looking at him weirdly. “Like you said.” 

“I didn’t say that.” _You’re talking out loud, dumbass._ “Oh.” _Yeah, **‘oh’**. That’s why they are looking at you weird._ “Excuse me for getting used to being on my own." _Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness._ “Then you’re a bit late.” 

They were staring at him again. 

“What?” he snapped. “Am I not allowed to talk to myself?” 

“Do you think it’s some kind of consequence of being brought back to life?” _he_ asked the others. 

“Peter was brought back to life,” Scott replied. 

“Peter was crazy before,” Lydia pointed out. 

“That’s my uncle you’re talking about.” 

_Peter’s alive?_ “Good or bad?” _Depends. If Peter’s alive, that means it hasn’t happened yet._ “But I’m not in the past.” _You say that like I know everything._

“Peter died,” Scott supplied, before frowning. “Remember?” 

_Vividly._

“Derek killed him.” 

_Wrong._

“And then Lydia brought him back.” 

_Also wrong._

“He’s alive?” Stiles asked. _He **just** told you that._ Scott nodded. 

_I guess that’s something._ “He went first.” _Plus, we were already a few months into it when it happened._ “He was the tipping point.” _Peter, Cora, Derek, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Melissa, Allison, Dad, Scott._ “This is both the best dream and worst nightmare I’ve ever had.” _You need to see him._

“Where is he?” Stiles asked. 

* * * 

Peter sauntered into the veterinary, looking much like he did before he got ill. _Cocky sonofabitch. I could hug him._

He looked at Stiles. “So I hear you’re alive.”

And then-

“How are you an Alpha?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated a little, whether or not to go for the Human Alpha Stiles route, but I do have a reason for choosing this, one which will become clear as we go on.
> 
> There is also a reason I listed the names as I did. See if you can figure it out.
> 
> I don't have a particular route for this story...yet.
> 
> I'm pleased at the response I have gotten for this. It hasn't even been up a day and already I have had so many people read it and like it.
> 
> I would like to give a quick shout out, in particular, to [Lidil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidil/pseuds/Lidil), one of my ever-loyal readers even after months of silence on my end. I'd like to say thank you to everyone who is reading and liking and commenting on this fanfiction, your support spurs me on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any sentences in _italics_ are Stiles' thoughts. Any words in italics are emphasized. Any words in italics **bold** are emphasized thoughts.
> 
> He now aware that everyone can hear his conversations, and they will respond to his thoughts, because they'll often add to what he's already said. 
> 
> This is a future fic, set in the year 2019, when Stiles, Scott, Lydia etc would be roughly 25. Derek is probably about 30, maybe?
> 
> What to say about this? I hope things are becoming clearer as you read. Quite a few revelations and explanations in this chapter. It jumps a little bit but I feel like, because Stiles is muddled, it works. It's a little confusing, but I tried to make it as clear as possible.

_Finally._

“That is a very good question,” Stiles answered. _With a very good answer._

“I’d like to hear it,” Peter folded his arms.

_On a side note, Derek and Scott are terrible wolves._

“Hey,” Scott sounded a little hurt.

“He can’t be an Alpha,” Derek eyed Stiles warily. “He’s human.”

“It happens sometimes,” Peter replied. “In very rare situations. Sometimes the only suitable choice for an Alpha is a human.”

Derek scoffed. “Stiles is hardly a suitable choice for an Alpha.”

“Standing right here,” Stiles scowled. _I didn’t ask to be Alpha. I didn’t **ask** for you to die._

“What?” Derek’s gaze snapped to his.

“So, um, where’s Cora and Erica and Boyd and Jackson and Isaac and Melissa and Allison?” Stiles asked, like he hadn’t said anything. _Are they alive?_

“They’re fine,” Deaton assured. Stiles still seemed wary of him.

“Well, that’s something, I guess. Doesn’t explain what’s going on here.”

“You’re back from the dead,” Derek replied. Stiles looked at him strangely.

“So are you,” he muttered.

“I don’t think that’s quite what’s going on,” Deaton interjected.

“So what is?” Lydia asked.

Stiles started pacing a little. He needed to think for a moment. _Peter, Cora, Derek, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Melissa, Allison, Dad, Scott._ “Last night was a full moon.” _Does that mean something?_ “When doesn’t it mean something?” _You became an Alpha on the full moon._ “What was so special about last night’s?” _Nothing._ “Had to be something. How else did this happen?”

“It was a full moon here,” Lydia supplied.

“Was there anything different about it?” Stiles asked. _Had to be the full moon. What else could it be? It’s the only thing that was important yesterday._

“We don’t even know what happened,” Derek pointed out. “What happened to you.”

“Lots of things,” Stiles responded. _You guys are fucking lucky._

“Lucky?” Scott echoed. “I lost my best friend. I lost _you_.”

 _Yeah, and I lost a lot more than that._ “This is weirding me out. Somehow, for you guys, I died. But for me, somehow, something else entirely happened.”

“Maybe you went to Hell,” Lydia murmured. “We’ve all seen _Supernatural._ ”

“You know, in hindsight, it’s really stupid that no one came to this conclusion before,” Peter suddenly said. Deaton seemed to be nodding an agreement.

“What, Hell?” Stiles looked at them both.

“You don’t belong here, Stiles,” Deaton chose to answer instead.

 _Ouch._ “What do you mean?”

“He’s talking about alternate dimensions,” Peter looked bored in the corner, but Stiles remembered him well enough to know it was just an act. “Stiles doesn’t belong here, because he came from a parallel world.”

 _Whoa, was not expecting that._ “Hell of a lot better than time travel.” _Are you sure about that?_ “Very.” _Either way, it’s still Doctor Who come true._

“That’s a thing?” Scott gaped at Deaton.

“It is now,” the vet answered. “It seems that, in the beginning, our worlds progressed exactly the same, but something changed. Stiles died in this universe.”

“So Stiles dying here caused our worlds to…veer off from each other?”

_No._

“So which one is the right one?” Scott asked.

_Neither. It doesn’t work like that._

“It doesn’t,” Deaton agreed. It seemed they were getting used to Stiles saying his thoughts aloud.

“So how did Stiles dying cause this?” Lydia gestured to the room.

_No._

“No what?” Peter asked with a sudden interest, apparently the only one to notice his objections.

“No, not my death,” Stiles replied.

“What do you mean?” Deaton turned to him. Along with everyone else.

“My death didn’t cause this.”

“It must have,” Lydia responded. “It’s the only big difference between our worlds.”

 _No, it’s not, but I know what you mean._ “Scott said I died five years ago, correct?” Stiles asked the room and there were nods all about. “But something happened in my world, a long time before that. Something that I know didn’t happen here.”

“How do you know it didn’t?” Scott asked.

“I just do,” Stiles snapped a little, his eyes flicking to Derek against his permission. _Fuck._

“What happened?” Peter asked.

 _Don’t say it._ “I found my mate.” _Dumbass._ “Or rather my mate found his mate and it was me.”

There was a silence. Then Scott spluttered a little.

_They really know how to take it in their stride._

“Your mate? That’s a real thing?”

“It’s rare,” Peter replied, with a frown. “Some people can go their whole life and never even meet their mate. Lots of people do.”

“Too many people on the planet,” Stiles added. “Your true mate could be anywhere, anyone. That’s why it’s best you never look for them. Or you’ll be disappointed.”

“And you found yours,” Peter looked at him for a long moment.

_I don’t want to talk about it._

“Then tell us how you’re an Alpha,” Derek spoke up for the first time in a while.

 _I **just** said I don’t want to talk about it._ “My mate was an Alpha.” _Shut the fuck up. You’ll give it away._ “Not any more than you will.” _I don’t want to talk about it._

“But how does that make you Alpha?”

“It was a dire situation,” Stiles snapped. _I didn’t ask to be Alpha. I don’t want to talk about it._

“What happened?” Lydia asked gently. Stiles pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Peter said instead. “So I think we should leave it alone.”

“We need to know,” Scott spoke up.

“You don’t _need_ to know anything,” Stiles replied tightly. “So back off.”

“We told you what happened here,” Derek pointed out coolly. _It’s like he’s trying to aggravate you. Remember that time he-_

“You said I died. Big deal.”

_-that was a **good** day._

“It _is_ a big deal,” Scott looked – and sounded – hurt.

“Yeah, and as far as I can tell, that’s the worst thing that happened here.”

“I don’t know, Peter being brought back to life was pretty bad," Lydia interjected.

_Shut up!_

Lydia looked shocked.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Derek growled. Scott stepped in front of him.

“Let’s just try to calm down–” he began.

“That last time I saw Deaton,” Stiles cut him off, “he tried to eat me. I had to shoot him in the head. I buried him in the woods with everyone else I had killed. Does that give you an idea of what happened in my world? How bad it was?”

_Deaton’s face would be hilarious if I was in the mood._

“Don’t say that Peter being here is a horrible thing because you have no idea what I would have done to see even his face again,” tears burned in Stiles’ nose.

Peter looked a little pleased in the corner.

Derek stormed out of the room. Stiles flinched when the door slammed shut behind him. Tears burned in his nose. _Do you remember what he used to be like?_ “No.” _Me neither._

There was an awful silence in the aftermath of Stiles’ words. Lydia looked rather horrified. Scott looked like he was going to cry. _He’s good at that._

Peter was somehow managing to look both please and subdued, while Deaton seemed to be struggling with the whole ‘eating’ thing.

Stiles sighed out a heavy breath. _That went well._ “Could have gone worse.”

He cleared his throat. “I want to go-” _Where? Home? You don’t have a home anymore._ “I could go to the woods.” _And do what? He isn’t buried there anymore._ “I don’t want to be a zombie anymore.” _Liar._

They were all watching him have a conversation with himself, but he didn’t care. He turned away. The tears that burned in his nose filled his eyes. _I want **him**. You can’t have him._

“Stiles, hey,” Scott touched his shoulder. “Do you want to go see your dad?” 

Stiles tensed. “No. No…not yet.” _Well, he’s alive. That’s what you wanted. **This** is what you wanted._ “Not like this.” 

That was directed at both himself and Scott, but the latter didn’t seem to realize. The perceptive strawberry blonde cleared her throat. 

“How about you come back to mine and have a shower? Scott can grab some spare clothes for you to change into and we can take you for a proper haircut. Try and make you more comfortable?” 

_Comfort. Ha. Haven’t thought of that in a **long** time._

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, please. I would…like that.” 

Peter stepped forward. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would like a few minutes with our young traveler…alone.” 

Scott and Lydia exchanged a look but nodded. “Okay…that’s okay,” Scott nodded. “We’ll go get the car ready.” 

After a brief hesitation, they disappeared out the door. Stiles looked at Deaton, who hadn’t moved. Peter didn’t tell him to leave, in fact he nodded for the man to come closer. 

“Stiles,” he started, somewhat gently, “about your mate. It’s Derek…isn’t it?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where to bring the Sheriff in yet. It might be while, to let Stiles get used to living in this world.
> 
> Still don't know what's going to happen, but I have been contemplating a prequel, in which we would investigate Stiles world and learn about what happened to him.
> 
> After this chapter, I can't promise when the next one will be up. It could be posted tonight or it could be later in the week, maybe Wednesday. I have to work and such most of the week, but I'll hopefully work on it every weekend.
> 
> Side note: Has anyone figured out what's important about the names that Stiles is listing off?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't talk to himself as much in this chapter, but that's more because I couldn't really fit it in as much. But he still does it. He will have a descent into sanity but it is gradual and has started, but mostly because he has people to talk to now.
> 
> Stiles has tattoos. Stiles has scars. The tattoos are described in this chapter. His scars vary and he has lots but they are not really described. Neither are the circumstances around said scars given.
> 
> Derek was angry in the last chapter, possibly because he had felt something towards Stiles but never had a chance to act on it before he died, and now this other Stiles has appeared but he not only was an Alpha, but already had a mate and Derek was...disappointed, I suppose.
> 
> As usual, italicized sentences are Stiles' thoughts, italicized words in the middle of a sentence are emphasis and bold words in the middle of italic are Stiles' thoughts emphasized.
> 
> During the explanation about Peter, the italicized sentences are Stiles remembering what was said. It can be a little confusing but it's hard to differentiate between Stiles and his thoughts sometimes. Even for me, the writer.

“Everything will look a lot better after you shower,” Lydia said. She was still hesitant around him, perhaps wary, because he had been dead to her for the last five years and now he was crazy.

“Maybe,” Stiles agreed, dropping his backpack – it had been in Deaton’s office – on the bathroom floor. He started to unwind the duck-tape from around his wrists.

“What was that for?” Lydia asked curiously, watching him.

“Uh, no idea,” he shrugged. “I just starting putting it on.”

She nodded. “So what did Peter want to say to you?”

Stiles glanced at her. _Should have expected that._ “He was asking me something about the other world, something he’d figured out.”

“About your mate,” Lydia guessed.

 _She knows._ “Yeah, he thought he’d figured it out.”

“Had he?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, a little tightly, before stripping off his shirt. Lydia let out a gasp.

_Forgot how bad I look to other people._

“You don’t look _bad_ ,” Lydia amended, a little choked, “just…”

_Broken._

She reached out to touch on of the many scars he had tracked over his skin. There were bite marks, stab wounds, cigarette burns, words carved into skin. And a layer of tattoos hid the worst ones. Lydia looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears.

“You died in a car crash, you know,” she whispered quietly. “It had been raining, you lost control of the Jeep.”

Stiles swallowed, keeping still, but his stomach twitched under her fingers.

“I don’t know how bad it was, but Scott said…they asked for identifying features, like your face was…like they couldn’t show your face.”

Stiles looked at the wall behind her. He couldn’t say anything to that. He was supposed to be dead to her. She was just as messed up by this as him.

“I couldn’t get behind the wheel of a car for…months. All I could think about was how bad it must have been for them to not show your face. I kept imagining it.”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I used to dream of seeing you. Just sometimes, I would…pretend that you weren’t dead. And now it’s actually happening.”

Stiles looked back at her, then sat down on the edge of the bath. “Peter died first,” he admitted slowly, because this was the first time he’d ever spoken about this since it had happened. “I remember, when he fell ill, Derek came to me, to us…he came and he was saying…” _“Peter’s got it, he’s got it. He’s going to die.”_ “He kept asking me, ‘what do we do? How do we help him?’ All I could say was…” _“I don’t know…”_ “We didn’t know if we could help him.”

“What happened?” Lydia asked quietly.

“Well, he died. We couldn’t save him. It didn’t have a cure.”

“What didn’t?” she pressed.

“The virus,” Stiles replied, and his tone of voice suggested that he wasn’t going to say anymore. Lydia let it go and slipped out of the bathroom.

Stiles quickly stripped out of the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower, switching it on. The water came out cold but he was used to the cold. It was when it started to heat up that he started to understand.

 _This is real._ “Very real.” _When was the last time you had a hot shower? When was the last time you had a **shower**?_ “I can’t remember.”

He leaned against the wall, letting the water splash onto him. _How long will this last?_

Not wanting to dwell on unanswerable conundrums, he picked the soap – _It’s a full bar of **soap**_ – and started to wash. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed with more than water. Probably around the same time he’d last washed with hot water.

He took as long as he dared to in the shower, scrubbing the soap over his body more than once until the water going down the drain stopped turning black. He washed his hair thoroughly twice – it was so long and it had been ages since his last wash, so it was filthy.

He relaxed a little, breathing deeply to try and calm down. He never relaxed anymore but maybe now would be a good time. He was in a world where he would be relatively safe and even if he wasn’t here for long, it would do some good to wind down.

He stepped out of the shower some time later, picking up the towel that Lydia had left and drying himself off. _That is fluffy._ He pulled on the clothes that Scott had brought round. The jeans were a little snug but they fit but the shirt was too tight. He sighed, feeling cold, but headed downstairs to see if there was another shirt he could wear.

Lydia and Scott were in the kitchen, talking lowly to… _Derek_. 

He took a deep breath, padding barefoot to the kitchen door, before knocking on it to get their attention. They all spun to face him, like they hadn’t heard him. 

“Shirt’s too tight,” he held it up, before trying to figure out why they were all looking at him with varying degrees of shock and horror. 

Oh, right…scars. 

Lydia, who had seen them at least once before and seemed a little less affected than the others, turned to Scott. “Did you bring other clothes?” 

Scott blinked then came to his senses. “Oh, yeah, they’re in the car, I’ll go get them.” 

Only Derek remained staring at Stiles, his eyes flickering over the tattoos and scars that littered his torso. 

“How was your shower?” Lydia asked, turning back to Stiles. 

“It was fine,” Stiles shrugged. _Hot. Clean. Long. Best shower I’ve ever had._

“We can go get your hair cut later, if you want?” 

“I’d like that,” Stiles nodded, dragging a hand through his wet hair. 

Derek tore his gaze away, turning to stare out of the window. Stiles pushed down the hurt that flared. _You can’t have him._

Lydia let out a cry. “Your tattoo moved,” she pointed at Stiles’ arm, where a snake wound its way around his skin. 

“Don’t be scared, she’s friendly,” Stiles replied, glanced at his snake. It had moved, its tongue had flicked out. 

“But tattoos don’t move,” Lydia glanced at him warily. 

“Mine do,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s magic.” His snake moved again. “Meet Sacha.” 

“You named it?” Derek’s incredulous voice cut into the conversation. 

“Her,” Stiles corrected. “And yes, I did. I named all of them.” 

“All?” Lydia echoed, her eyes darting to the other tattoos she could see. 

“Well, three. I have a butterfly on my back that I called Alaska because she’s blue and white and I got it in Alaska. And the wolf,” he gestured to his hip, “I called Derek.” 

There was a pause. 

“What?” the real Derek asked in confusion. “Why would you do that?” 

“Well, because Derek means leader and my wolf is an Alpha, like leader of the pack.” 

Derek frowned. Lydia glanced between them. She did know. She must have figured it out. 

Stiles could feel his tattoos buzzing. They must be ‘waking up’ or something. That’s why Sacha had stuck her tongue out. 

“You guys might find it weird, but…they kind of became my friends. I mean, they don’t talk to me, but sometimes I’d pretend that what I could hear in my head was what they were saying." 

_Crazy._

“But why Derek?” Derek seemed to be stuck on that. 

Stiles half-shrugged. “Because it seemed fitting.” He could feel the wolf uncurling from around his hip and it made him smile, the feeling of it. He didn’t use his magic much anymore, but the tattoos took some energy, energy he was willing to spare. 

There was a flash of something across Derek’s face, and Stiles took a step back. _No…_

Scott returned to the kitchen, two new shirts in hand. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Stiles turned away from Derek. “Are they bigger than the last one?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Scott frowned but held them out. Stiles reached for the darker one. 

A warm hand encircled his elbow and pulled him past Scott, out of the room. He managed to snag one of the proffered shirts, before Derek pulled him into what looked like Lydia’s study, and closed the door. 

Stiles pulled on the shirt. It definitely fit better than the last one. He smoothed it down. 

"Stiles,” Derek crossed his arms, glancing him up and down. “What happened?” 

“To what?” Stiles asked, trying to seem innocent but failing. 

“To you,” Derek frowned. “I want you to tell me what happened to you.” 

“Lots of things,” Stiles replied. “Why do you care?” 

"Because I-” Derek cut off with something like a growl. “I think it might be important.” 

Stiles swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“You named your wolf after me. I want to know why.” 

“Nobody said I named it after you.” 

“I’m not an idiot.” 

_Maybe you are. Because if you can figure out that I named it after you then…_ “You should be able to figure out why.” 

Derek watched him for a long moment. “Why are you here?” 

Stiles shrugged. “No idea. One minute, I’m sleeping in a deserted town on a mattress stolen from a possible dead guy and the next I’m deafened by the sound of people.” 

“It’s strange,” Derek said after a moment. “To see you again. I mean, you’re not just a dream or a nightmare, you’re standing there. You’re real.” 

“You dreamed about me?” Stiles asked quietly. 

Derek hesitated. “I never said that.” 

Stiles turned away. 

“But, yes, I did,” he continued slowly. “Sometimes it was about the car crash…I would dream that I was there with you and I’d try and stop you from dying. I never did.” 

“And other times?” Stiles had stopped turning but he didn’t face Derek again. 

“And other times I would dream about what might have happened if you hadn’t died.” 

“Which is what?” Stiles slowly looked at him. _I used to dream the same thing. If you hadn’t died, I’d think about what the world might have been like._

“Would there have been a big difference?” Derek asked, a little curious, avoiding Stiles’ question. “If I hadn’t died…in your world?” 

“Nothing particularly noticeable in the long run. But…it would have been nice to have some company. And some…incidents could probably have been avoided. But what about you? What do you dream about?” 

Derek didn’t say anything for a long moment, before he shoved his hands into pockets. “Just…how it might have been if you had still been around.” 

Stiles looked at him expectantly. _How would it have been? Different?_

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, before he turned away. 

_Different how?_

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek shook his head. “I should get back to the others.” 

Stiles moved to grab his elbow. “Different how?” he repeated. 

Derek looked at him. “You really want to know?” he asked, carefully, flicking his eyes to Stiles’ hand on his arm. 

“Yeah, I mean…if you think it would have been different, had I still been alive in this universe, well…I mean…it’s gotta be big if _you_ think it would be different.” 

“You really think my opinion is important?” 

“I always did,” Stiles replied simply. 

Derek turned back to face him, noting how close they suddenly were. “It’s nothing particularly significant, but…it was like I was focusing on the missed opportunity. I would dream about what I would have done if you were still alive.” 

“And what would you have done?” Stiles asked. 

And then Derek kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't really know where this is going.
> 
> The feedback and support I'm getting for this is amazing, I love you guys <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, maybe I was reading it wrong, but I kind of got the vibe that you guys thought the last chapter was the final chapter of this fic? First of all, don't you guys have any faith? Second, if you did think that, well, don't worry too much, cause there's still a lot in it. Including, but not limited to, why Stiles is here, if he is going to stay, and there are the issues about the developing relationship between Stiles and Derek.
> 
> No thinking out loud for Stiles in this chapter, because there is a huge conversation with Lydia. The italicized passage at the beginning is Stiles' memory, and not a huge thought out loud.

_Stiles pushed through the crowds of people with cups of alcohol dancing lazily to his music, searching for a certain strawberry blonde head._

_Lydia hadn’t given him time to argue against this party she had thrown. She had told him that your eighteenth was an important birthday which deserved to be celebrated like never before and never again, before sashaying off in that annoyingly intimidating way of hers._

_Stiles couldn’t see anything particularly significant about turning eighteen, other than being old enough to legally have sex. Not that he even had anyone to have sex with but…_

_“Lydia,” he caught her arm, pulling her away from whomever she had been talking to. “I need to talk to you.”_

_She gave him a once-over then nodded. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing. Derek kissed me.”_

_She smiled. “That’s great. What was it like?”_

_“Um, it was gentle. Soft. Like, he put his hands on my hips and we both leaned in. It was very brief, like a brush of the lips type thing, but it was kiss.”_

_“I’m happy for you.”_

_“Yeah, I am too,” Stiles agreed, but there was a hesitation._

_“But?” Lydia pressed._

_“But I’m worried that he just did it because it was my birthday.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“I mean, what if he knew how I felt – because let’s be honest, everyone knew how I felt – and he was trying to be nice and, like, indulge me for a night by giving me the kiss? And then tomorrow he’s going to come and say that it didn’t mean anything.”_

_“Honestly, if he was to do that, it would sound like he was leading you on. And Derek’s not that cruel, you know that. Not after everything he’s been through.”_

_Stiles chewed his lip. “I just don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find that it was just one kiss for one night, and nothing is going to happen.”_

_“Derek wouldn’t kiss you if he didn’t like you back.”_

_Stiles sighed and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I just want this to be real.”_

_“Everyone does,” she assured him. “We are all very much aware of how much you like Derek.”_

_Stiles smiled a little, his cheeks flaring with blush. “I tried to hide it.”_

_She shook her head fondly. “Trust me, Derek wants it just as much as you. And tomorrow, he’ll tell you that.”_

_Stiles swallowed. “Okay. Okay, I just got so…” he laughed and Lydia smiled at him._

_“Good birthday then?”_

_“The best."_

* * *

“Derek kissed me,” Stiles blurted, while they were waiting to get his hair cut.

“He what?” Lydia’s gaze snapped to him. “When?”

“In the study,” Stiles chewed his lip, worriedly. “We were talking, about how things would be different if I hadn’t died in this universe, and he kissed me.”

“And?”

“And ran,” Stiles sighed. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to him,” Lydia replied easily. Stiles shook his head.

“I know that part,” Stiles said. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

Stiles swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like it should.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, it felt good. It felt…nice.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No, not bad. Well, a little bad. No, a lot bad. Cause it’s supposed to feel…wrong.”

“Why is it supposed to feel wrong?” Lydia asked, confused.

“Because…” Stiles sighed. “Back when I was with my Derek, before,” he waited for Lydia to nod her understanding, “I kissed someone else once.”

Lydia opened her mouth but Stiles pushed on before she could say anything.

“I worked with this guy, and he had this crush on me, he was always trying to flirt with me and get me to go out with him and stuff. I made it very clear I had a boyfriend and I wasn’t interested but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Then there was this party, for someone’s birthday or retirement, I can’t remember, but there was alcohol. And I got a little tipsy. I had promised Derek that I wouldn’t get too drunk but I accidentally had too much and this guy, he kissed me at the party. I hated it. I felt horrible. Which doesn’t even describe it. I felt guilty, disgusted, angry, terrified.”

“Of Derek?” Lydia asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“Of how Derek would react,” Stiles replied, before hastily adding, “I was terrified he would break up with me. I told him straight away. I ran home and told him what had happened, the whole story: how I got drunk, how I was tired, how he kissed me…How I kissed back,” his voice shook a little, heavy with regret. “It was for this tiny moment, he caught me off-guard and I was a little drunk and I kissed him back. Only for a second but it’s the one thing I’ve never forgotten about that night and I hate myself every day because of it.”

“Stiles,” Lydia watched him. “How did Derek react?”

“He was angry. I mean, it was understandable. I had kissed someone else. I had cheated on him. We had an argument. Well, I mean I let him yell at me, really. I didn’t want him to forgive me and make me feel better. I had cheated, I didn’t deserve that. I felt horrible. And Derek…he went home without me that night. Said he needed space.”

“So he _did_ break up with you?” Lydia clarified. “But I thought you were mates.”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, we were mates. But, no, he didn’t break up with me. He just asked me to spend the next few days until he could…come to terms with it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went to you, of course. I always went to you. Especially when I needed relationship advice.”

“And you’re doing it now.”

Stiles chuckled a little. “I guess so. Although I do need to talk about it too.”

“Okay, so what did I tell you?”

“Well, I went to you and I told you what happened. You were pretty mad at me too. But I asked you, if your boyfriend had cheated, what it would take to forgive him.”

“What did I say?” she asked, intrigued.

“You said you would want them to make some big gesture that proved how much they loved you and that they were really truly sorry about what had happened.”

“Sounds like me. I mean, kissing someone else isn’t the hugest offence and given the circumstances, you don’t seem to be at fault. Much. If you prove your love, then it would be easier to forgive you, especially since it’s a one-time offense.”

“That is exactly what you said then too.”

“Not surprising. What did you do?”

“Well, we were too far into the relationship to say ‘I love you’ for the first time. Plus I didn’t think it would be enough.”

Lydia shook her head in agreement.

“We’d agreed not to get engaged until I graduated college,” Stiles replied. His voice shook again. He cleared his throat. “And everyone had a key to Derek’s place, so I…I took it up a step. I started searching for an apartment. For us. For me and Derek.”

“To move in with him,” Lydia added slowly.

Tears burned in his nose and his throat. They ached. He dropped his gaze to the dirty floor. “I found this place, this really nice place. One bedroom, one bathroom. Corner apartment and it had these great floor to ceiling windows.” He smiled, just thinking about it. “I went to Derek and I told him I was sorry, and I loved him, and I hated myself for what I had done to him, and I hated that I had hurt him and I loved him more than I could ever say and I wanted us to be together, so I had looked and found this apartment and I wanted us to move in together.”

“What did he say?” Lydia asked, seemingly transfixed with the story.

Stiles laughed, choked a little with tears. “He pulled me into his arms and held me tight. He said he was sorry for getting mad at me for kissing that other man and he didn’t blame me because I had tried to dispel his interest and hadn’t even kissed him first and I was drunk. He said he loved me too and he wasn’t going to break up with me over a silly little kiss because I made him so happy, he was never going to let me go, ever.”

He wiped his cheeks on his sleeves. “I never forgave myself though,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “Not for kissing that man back.”

The other people around them, those cutting hair, getting their haircut and waiting to get their haircut – they were all staring at Stiles like he was crazy. Lydia looked like she was close to tears herself, as she reached to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

“Did you move in together?” she asked.

Stiles nodded, smiling at the memory. And then he buried his head in hands. “My dad was so happy, when I told him. There was something happening between him and Melissa, he hadn’t told me, because he didn’t want to jinx it. But he was happy that I was moving in with Derek, because he could see how happy we were together,” he hugged himself a little.

Lydia was watching him. “Maybe that apartment is still around.”

Stiles shook his head. “That wasn’t the point. The point was, the kiss with this Derek didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel horrible. I don’t hate myself because I cheated on my mate.”

“So how do you feel?”

“Like I want it to happen again,” guilt was written on his face. “Because it felt good. Kissing Derek, any Derek, it felt…I guess because I miss my Derek. But it felt really good.”

“That’s not bad, Stiles,” Lydia began but Stiles shook his head.

“No, it didn’t just feel good, it felt… _better_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Stiles found the kiss with _This_ Derek better than his kisses with _His_ Derek is very relevant, probably.
> 
> More to come, guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, sorry about the delay in this story. I'm not sure how long it's been since the last update(?) but things kind of piled up lately. I stopped working, did an interview for college, went on a bunch of day trips and stuff, and went to see Age of Ultron on the day it came out (one week before the USA) and have recently become obsessed with the Fast and Furious film series.
> 
> Second, you know the drill. The italicized sentences, in the beginning, are his nightmares, then near the end, are his thoughts. If they're emboldened, then it's emphasis.
> 
> Also, he isn't telling the whole truth to Scott, but that'll come later. I'm thinking of dedicating a whole chapter to explain exactly what happened to Stiles with the virus and such.
> 
> I have something I need your opinion on, guys, so if you would please take some time to read the notes at the end and then comment, it would be very much appreciated.

_“Derek?”_

Stiles didn’t have nightmares anymore. Because he was a zombie. Or dead inside, at least. No feelings, no mercy, no nightmares. It’d felt like he’d lost the things that had kept him…human.

Point is, he didn’t have nightmares anymore. Except now it seemed like he was.

_“No, please. Help us!!”_

Stiles used to dream about before the virus. About Derek and his dad and Scott and Lydia and Allison and everyone before the virus, but mostly Derek. And when he had nightmares it was always about when he had to kill Derek. Occasionally, it was about when the military had passed through town and done nothing and Stiles had ran after them screaming at them to help. But mostly it was Derek.

_“You can’t leave us!!”_

Sometimes they were memories. Remembering the warmth of Derek sleeping next to him, or Derek laughing that time Stiles thought he’d broken their kitten when she’d fallen into the bath when it was full of water - _“Cats aren’t supposed to swim, Derek.”_ \- or the first time they’d said “I love you” to each other.

Then, when he’d started to forget Derek’s face and his smile and the sound of his voice and his laugh and the way he’d say Stiles’ name, the nightmare became recurring. One moment, over and over, every night. The day Stiles proposed.

He’d been waiting for months. He was still a year from graduating college but he couldn’t wait any longer. He went against his dad’s wishes, against Derek’s wishes, got down on one knee and asked Derek to marry him. He was giving Derek his mother’s engagement ring, like welcoming him to the family. He’d been sobbing as he’d asked, asking for forgiveness, telling Derek he wanted to marry him so much.

Derek had told him it was okay and that he didn’t need to apologize. And Stiles had asked him again. And Derek had said yes, yes, forever yes.

And then Stiles had shot him.

_“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”_

Sometime after that, they’d turned and he kept seeing Derek but Derek was angry, so angry. He blamed Stiles for killing him, for not trying harder to save him. He shouted, he yelled, he roared, he wolfed out and Stiles would wake up, crying, screaming that he was sorry, that he wished he could have done something.

_“Please!!”_

And sometime after that, they’d faded away.

* * *

Stiles was a light sleeper. He could wake up at the slightest sound and movement, and usually would, because the slightest sound and movement eventually became the sign of an attacker.

And after five years of light sleeping and attackers, Stiles had fast reflexes and good instinct. He liked to think he would have been considered a natural fighter if he’d taken classes before the virus. He’d picked it up pretty quickly.

And after five years of defending himself against the infected and the supernatural and the post-virus looters, sometimes Stiles was reacting to danger before he had even really woken up.

“Oh God, I am so sorry,” Stiles scrambled out of the spare bed in a panic, hurrying to make sure Scott was okay. The look on his face would have been comical had Stiles not almost hit him with the knife he slept with. It was only werewolf reflexes that had him ducking.

“It’s fine,” Scott said, his voice slightly shaky before he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you or anything, it’s just…you were having a nightmare.”

“I know,” Stiles replied, a little sullenly, yanking his knife from the wall and moving back towards the bed.

“Do you have them often?” Scott asked, before cursing himself for asking an obviously stupid question. Stiles shook his head, though.

“Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

“Oh,” Scott didn’t really know what to say to that.

“No, it’s a good thing,” Stiles looked up at him. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like it, but it means I’m not dead inside, right? I was beginning to think so.”

_Unaffected. Zombie. Dead._

Scott nodded slowly. “What was it about?”

Stiles stiffened. “Derek. The virus. The virus taking Derek.”

Scott frowned. “What’s the virus?”

Stiles could tell that there were others downstairs. It was one of his gifts, like a sixth sense. He could interpret the energy around him and around others, to learn about his surroundings. He could tell who people were, what they were, how they were feeling. Hell, he could even tell if they’d had sex, because the air was filled with that kind of hot, lusty energy…

Point was, he could feel the energy of other people in the house. Lydia’s was strongest, probably because it was her house. It felt like Peter, too, and Derek was there too.

And Allison and Isaac.

It suddenly occurred to Stiles that Scott had asked him a question. “Um, what?”

“What virus?” Scott was frowning at him in concern.

“It’s complicated,” Stiles scratched the back of his neck. “A virus started infecting people. Some people were immune, most people weren’t. There was no cure. After a few months, the virus disappeared. We just woke up one day and it was gone. But it was too late. It had killed over half the world.”

Scott looked worried and sad. “That’s what happened to you? Stiles…”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Stiles replied softly. “But…the governments sent out the army and the navy and all the military to get supplies to people, to help them. They came to Beacon Hills once. Well, they came through Beacon Hills. Once. Drove straight through. Didn’t stop. No matter how much I asked them, begged them, screamed at them to. Sometimes I dream, I remember what it felt like to watch them drive away.”

_Hopeless. Broken. They didn’t even **stop**._

Tears burned in his nose and he couldn’t stop them pooling in his eyes. He took a deep breath and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Scott took a hesitant step forward and pulled Stiles into his arms.

Stiles stiffened again before crumbling at the familiar feel, familiar warmth, familiar _smell_ of Scott holding him. He didn’t cry, but he was pretty damn close, as he gripped Scott with all the strength he possessed, like he would never let him go again.

“I just wanted them to _stop_ ,” he choked out, the tears finally spilling over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed a distinct lack in Stiles talking to himself, as I have, it's probably something to do with having other _real_ people to talk to.
> 
> Now, about my conundrum. As I have previously mentioned, I have recently become obsessed with the Fast and Furious film series. Like obsessed to the point where I have created an OC. And that's a big deal, because it went the same way with CSI, Supernatural and Teen Wolf. So I've had a few ideas for fanfics that I may or may not be writing, mostly to flesh some things out
> 
> This might seem like the stupidest thing ever, but I'm weirdly conscientious and it just, to me, I don't want it to be disrespectful or weird or uncomfortable or something to post something in that fandom at the moment. Like, I know it's stupid, and it's not the writing it, it's the posting it. Like at the moment, I feel vaguely uncomfortable at the thought, in case it is, so I'm just looking for some reassurance that it'll be alright and not weird/uncomfortable/disrespectful etc. Don't laugh at me, please, just roll with it and help. Thank you so much.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, aren't you lucky? Two chapters in two days. I'm on fire.
> 
> Stiles doesn't do any talking to himself in this chapter but I'm pretty sure you know the drill by now anyways.
> 
> I've had an idea about why Stiles has been sucked into this universe, but it needs work. Luckily, there's still some things to cover before we go into that, including a chapter about the virus, just clearing up the timeline of his own universe.

It didn’t take too long for Stiles to stop crying.

The nightmare started to fade, the way they always did, back to a bad memory and a niggle at the back of his mind. He’d had early practice at not letting things like nightmares, or death, affect him so he pulled away from Scott, wiped his eyes and tried for a smile.

“Allison and Isaac are here?” he asked, despite already knowing but needing clarification because Stiles sometimes hallucinated.

Scott nodded. “Yeah. They called because they were supposed to meet up to go to the cinema last night with me and Lydia, but me and Lydia have been distracted lately, with you coming back. So we called them round and explained it.”

“What did they say?”

Scott shrugged. “Well, I’m pretty sure Isaac can smell you but neither of them really seem to believe it. Despite our insistence.”

Stiles nodded. Once upon a time he was a ‘see it to believe it’ kind of guy too.

“So, do you want me to go down and talk to them?”

“That’s up to you,” Scott replied. “Do you need more clothes? I actually went out and bought some, the same size as the stuff you were wearing when you arrived. Well, mom did.”

Stiles nodded again. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll just,” he scratched a hand through his hair, remembering that he’d gotten it cut the day before, “do I have time for a shower?”

“Sure. Take all the time you need, okay? We’ll be downstairs. Do you want anything for breakfast? We can make you something?”

Stiles hesitated. Breakfast wasn’t exactly something that made it onto his priority list anymore. Not that he had a list of priorities. He’d reached a point where he just wandered through what was left of America, no plan, no priority, nothing.

“Um, Lydia will have…cereal, right? I’ll just ask for some of that.”

Scott nodded in reply and left the room. Stiles heard him going downstairs.

A long, warm shower with proper soap and shampoo was a luxury Stiles didn’t have anymore so, as he stepped under the hot water, he made the decision to have as many as possible from now until whenever he was sucked back into his own timeline. Because that was bound to happen. He just couldn’t figure out why he had been put here in the first place.

A long time ago, he’d learned not to take things for granted, long before the virus. Maybe around the time his mother had died.

He’d taken his mother for granted. He’d taken her presence, her always being there for him for granted. And then it had been taken from him. He’d lost her. Going from thinking she would always be there to realizing that nothing lasted forever had shocked Stiles into being thankful for almost everything in his life, from his Dad to even his favorite pen for school.

Some time, after he’d left Beacon Hills, he’d started compiling a mental list of all the things he would give an arm and a leg to have again, even just once. Perhaps, most surprisingly, he didn’t include his pack or his family. Probably because it would make what happened worse, because he’d have to face them after what he’d done to them.

He didn’t need to take as long in the shower as he had the first day, because he wasn’t dirty like he had been then. The first shower had been in first shower in well over three months. The filth, the smell, the dirt had built up. No wonder he looked like he’d climbed out of a grave five years after he supposedly ‘died’.

And now, he was having his second shower in the space of three days. It felt surreal. He couldn’t remember this ever being a normal thing for him, yet he could remember taking a shower nearly every day before the virus.

He didn’t need to take ages, since he was barely dirty this time around but he still took a few minutes to himself, just to relish the feel of warm water cascading over his shoulders, down his torso, pooling at his feet. It was a feeling he would probably never get used to again.

After he climbed out, he marveled, yet again, at the fluffiness of Lydia’s towels and got dressed in clothes that actually fit _him_. Not that he had anything against Scott’s clothes, or size, but they didn’t fit him properly and Stiles hadn’t been able to get properly comfortable in them. But these fit and he smiled faintly, pulling them on, because they felt and smelt and looked like the clothes he used to wear before the virus.

Then he headed downstairs.

As he got closer, he could hear Lydia and Scott and then Allison and Isaac and Peter – Stiles cold sense hostility around Peter but he could tell if it was directed at or away from the wolf.

He stepped hesitantly into the lounge and shifted as five pairs of eyes turned to look at him – Derek was studiously ignoring him and Stiles was happy. He didn’t like being center of attention, not when it seemed like he didn’t fit in anymore.

He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. Scott smiled reassuringly at him.

“There’s cereal in the kitchen if you want some,” Lydia spoke up, her voice soft like she was going to startle him like some wild animal.

He nodded. “Thanks but I’m not really hungry at the moment. Maybe…Maybe later.”

She nodded, unoffended. Isaac was standing and slowly making his way towards Stiles. His eyes wide, his approach cautious, like Stiles was going to disappear if he made any sudden moves.

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, before Stiles hesitantly reached out to him, a gentle encouragement and Isaac moved quickly, throwing his arms around Stiles and burying his face into Stiles’ neck. Clearly this Isaac and Stiles had been just as close as he had been to his Isaac, back before the virus.

Stiles moved to hug Isaac back, still hesitant but beginning to feel more comfortable, just a bit, but he didn’t get far before it went wrong.

“Alpha,” Isaac whispered against his skin. And Stiles stopped breathing.

His gaze flicked to Peter as, in his peripheral, Derek’s head shot round to look at him. He shoved Isaac away, unable to comprehend the hurt on Isaac’s face, as he stumbled back, trying to breathe. Trying to count, but he didn’t have the breath to say them, even if it felt like his lungs were bursting with air.

“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice was distorted as she reached for him.

He couldn’t breathe and his vision was going dim.

“Stiles,” Scott was moving quickly to his side, taking his arm, trying to talk to him.

Stiles drew in a ragged breath. It hurt. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel the ground. He felt like he was flying.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouted.

And everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, the whole fanfiction up to this point has been over three days. The first day was chapters 1-4 and day two was pretty much just chapter 5. Chapter 6 and this chapter is the third day.
> 
> Also, the panic attack part at the end of this chapter is echoing of the panic attack at the end of the first chapter.
> 
> Still looking for help with my issue, guys. Thanks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of getting back into the swing with this. I have time, I suppose.
> 
> This chapter is actually longer than most of the others, and we've hit 11,000 words now. Each chapter seems to be around a hundred words longer than the last, with a couple exceptions.
> 
> Stiles talks to himself some in this chapter. Also, his tattoos (previously mentioned) all somewhat have personalities of their own, with Sacha being the most confrontational and angry of the three.
> 
> Don't think there's much I can say about this until after you've read it. Except that I have my reasons for Isaac referring to Stiles as Alpha.

Stiles opened his eyes.

There was a brief moment, between waking up and opening his eyes, where he was scared he was going to wake up to his own universe, but thankfully, he was looking at the ceiling of Lydia’s spare bedroom.

He sat up and looked around the room. Scott was sitting nearby and he stood up when he saw Stiles was awake. He approached, smiling gently.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Not really,” Stiles frowned. “What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” Scott replied, looking concerned. “And blacked out.”

“Where’s Isaac? Is he okay?”

“He’s downstairs. Worried that he caused your attack. Did he?”

“Not…intentionally,” Stiles replied hesitantly. “I suppose I never really came to terms with the whole,” he gestured at himself, “Alpha thing. It’s not his fault, not really anyone’s. Maybe mine.”

“Why would it be your fault?”

“Well, when the virus…Derek was going to die. But, you know, I…killed him,” his voice wobbled. “So maybe that’s why it picked me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Derek died a long time before you did. Why did I become Alpha? Why not you?”

Scott frowned. “Derek was Alpha. Didn’t you say your mate was an Alpha?”

“Yeah, that whole thing isn’t really a big secret anymore?”

“So Derek was your-”

“Yeah,” Stiles cut him off before he could say it. “And maybe that was part of why I became Alpha. But you were supposed to be next in line. And instead I led you. I never really understood it. Why me? Maybe it was because I killed him. Took his power. Do you think it could work like that? For me?”

“I don’t know,” Scott watched him. “Maybe you should ask Deaton. Or Peter. Seems like they would have those kind of answers for you.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “I should go talk to Isaac.”

Scott glanced towards the door. “He’s in the lounge. Want me to go get him?”

“No, I should,” Stiles climbed off the bed that Scott must have placed him on when he’d collapsed. He wobbled a little, still unsteady in the aftermath of his panic attack. Scott put out a hand to steady him, looking concerned.

“Take it easy, okay? You really freaked out back there. Freaked us out too.”

Stiles nodded then stopped. “I-Sorry. I should go…see Isaac.”

Scott headed for the door, Stiles following. He was shaking, he could feel it. That was an effect of the panic attack. His second one in three days. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, or when they’d been that bad.

_When Dad died, maybe._

Scott turned back to him. “Your dad died?” he asked quietly, but there was an edge to his voice, like he already knew.

“I don’t think about it,” Stiles replied. _What about the panic attack when the scientist died?_ “I just try to forget about it.”

_Which is impossible, might I add._

Stiles just shook his head and continued down to the lounge. He took a deep breath – _It still hurts_ – and pushed in. Lydia and Allison were sitting on the couch, with Isaac, probably reassuring him that Stiles’ panic attack wasn’t his fault.

Stiles’ gaze strayed briefly to Derek and Peter, who were talking in the corner, and both stopped and stood when he entered. But he ignored them and headed towards Isaac, rubbing his hands together, to try and stop them from shaking.

“Hey, I wanted to say sorry,” he said carefully, to Isaac, “for scaring you like that. It’s just…been a long time since someone referred to me like that. It’s not your fault or anything, but I’m not supposed to be an Alpha. Not really. It was a fluke.”

Isaac looked at him then looked down. “I didn’t mean to call you Alpha. I don’t know why I did.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Me neither.”

“Wait,” Allison interjected, sitting up, looking like she’d just started listening to the conversation. “Peter was right? You’re actually an Alpha?”

“I feel like you guys really need to listen to him more,” Stiles cocked his head at her. “I mean, in my experience, he’s usually right.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you have a different experience from us,” Allison replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. “If you really did come from an alternate universe.”

 _She doesn’t believe you._ “Where else would I have come from?”

“It’s not the where,” she replied, faintly suspicious. “It’s the what.”

“You think I’m not human,” he clarified. His snake, on his arm, hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear, and Allison tensed.

“What was that?” she asked.

 _She doesn’t believe us._ “Easy, Sacha,” Stiles murmured, reaching to tap his arm. “Look, if I was something other than human, the werewolves would be able to tell. Or had you forgotten that they have heightened senses?”

“Us?” she echoed. “Who are you talking to?”

Stiles scowled at her for a moment before his face changed and he turned back to Isaac. “It wasn’t your fault, Isaac. Things have just been pretty…heavy the last few days. I can’t tell you how I’m feeling but the tiniest thing could set me off. No one’s fault.”

Allison stood up. “Look, I don’t know who or what you are, but I think you owe us some kind of explanation. Why are you here?”

 _Don’t get angry, don’t get angry._ “If I knew that, I would tell you.”

“Would you?” Allison snapped. “You waltz in here and just expect us all to believe you’re Stiles? I mean, what kind of story is alternate dimensions?”

“Allison,” Scott started, moving forward.

 _Don’t get angry._ “It might be too late for that.” _You remember how Allison was when you last saw her?_ “Yeah, the whole salivating, blood thing. Right before I shot her.” _Point taken, but I meant the whole suspicious of everyone thing. Add five years of supernatural shit to that._ “You make a good point.”

“What’s he doing?” Allison asked the room at large.

“Well, after five years-”

_Three and a half if we get technical._

“-on his own,” Lydia continued without pausing, “no one else to talk to, he started, well, talking to himself.”

“So he’s from another universe and he’s crazy?”

“Pretty much,” Lydia nodded.

Allison crossed her arms. “How do we know it’s true?”

Sacha hissed again and Allison narrowed her gaze on him. “What _is_ that?”

Stiles glanced down at his top then shrugged and rolled up his sleeve. “It’s Sacha, my snake tattoo.” He stretched out his arm. Sacha was gliding slowly around his arm, having moved to below the elbow, her tongue flickering in and out.

Allison took a step back, bumping into the couch. “What the hell?”

“Yeah, I have magic. To stop it building up to dangerous levels, I use it to animate my tattoos. It helped with the loneliness too.”

Allison just looked even more freaked out. “This is crazy. This is stupid. Stiles wasn’t magic. Why can’t you see it? He’s just another monster, another enemy, here to kill us like all the others we’ve faced.”

“Why can’t you believe it’s him?” Scott asked.

“Because I’ve already said goodbye to Stiles!” Allison snapped. “Five years ago, when he _died_. We cremated him so he couldn’t come back to life. We even checked it was him before he was cremated, to make sure it was Stiles we were cremating. Stiles is gone.”

“And what about me?” Stiles suddenly shouted, anger finally bubbling over. “I said goodbye to everyone. Hell, I shot most of you! How do you think I feel, standing here, faced with every decision I made? What’s to stop you guys from being some kind of extensive hallucination, to further prove I’ve lost my mind?”

Tears burned in his nose.

“I’ve lost everything,” he continued, his voice cold and sharp. “Everyone. I shot all of you. I shot my mate. My best friend. My _Dad_ ,” his voice breaking, tears streaking down his cheeks. “You think I’m a fake, huh? You think I’m lying about what I’ve been through?” He stepped up to her, pushing into her space. The tears were still falling, but he wasn’t crying.

“I watched Derek sink his claws into Peter. I watched him kill Cora after she bit him. The next day, I proposed to him and when he said yes, I shot him in the head. Boyd killed Erica and I killed Boyd. Jackson killed Lydia and I killed Jackson. I stepped in and pulled the trigger when Scott couldn’t, when it was Isaac. When it was Melissa, when it was _you_. I shot my dad. My _Dad_. Do you know what that’s like? To kill your own Dad? I shot him. I looked him right in the eyes and shot him. The same way I shot Scott, after he jumped between me and one of those fucking zombies. I _shot_ them.”

He couldn’t breathe for crying now, but he wasn’t going into a panic attack. Not this time.

Allison looked stricken.

“Tell me,” he choked out, “Allison, does it sound like I’m _lying_?”

Then he turned and slammed out the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intense ending there. I would have probably cried myself while writing it, if I hadn't been watching a movie with my sister and therefore trying not to cry.
> 
> I didn't mean to make Allison so confrontational and kind of mean in this, but that's the way it came out. I have my reasons for it, I suppose, but I'm sure her attitude will change in a while, especially after that little speech, which probably starts to clear up what's going on with Stiles.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of overloading with the chapters here, aren't I?
> 
> I have no idea how many chapters this is going to be. Hell, I'm not even sure how I'm going to finish it at this point. I'm just counting on everything working out in the end.
> 
> I recently noticed that I left both Chris Argent and Danny out of the list of people who died. Chris died before the virus happened. Maybe Danny ended up in a similar situation, where Stiles returned to Beacon Hills and ended up having to shoot Danny after Danny tried to eat him. That is what happened with Deaton, when Stiles raided the veterinarian for medical supplies and such.

The woods that surrounded Beacon Hills was Stiles’ safe place. Had been for a long time. Ever since his mother had died.

He’d spent the few months following that tragedy playing truant from school. He would sneak out and head for the woods, running as quick as he could to get under the cover of the trees. He would spend hours just wandering around, listening to the wind through the leaves and the birds singing.

It soothed him, helped him breathe. He loved the smell of the trees, the soil, the flowers. Especially after rain. Or a storm. When everything had that nice, damp scent, and it was all glistening from the water…

Stiles had often sneaked out when it was raining and gone to spend time there, just letting the water land on him, listening to it hit the leaves on the trees. The consequence of this decision had usually resulted in a bad cold and once, after a particularly bad stormy, hypothermia.

But the point is, the woods were his safe place.

* * *

There was a spot in the woods that was Stiles’ favorite spot. It was closer to the Hale house than he’d thought in the beginning, and had only figured it out after he’d stormed out once, after an argument with the pack.

He’d almost worked himself into a panic attack during and had walked out, needing to breathe, and the woods always helped him to breathe.

Anyway, there was this little place, where there was this small river and a water fall. Well, it was more like a stream. A trickle of water running through the woods and, if Stiles followed it, he came to this…cliff edge almost, with rocks. A steep drop but not one that killed you. Not that Stiles had jumped down or anything.

But the trickle-stream, it fell over the rocks, splashing down in a waterfall into a small lake, just buried in the middle of the woods. Stiles once noticed that more than one stream converged on the rocks, but he had always lost the other two when following them, so he’d figured they went underground at some point, on the way back to wherever they came from.

The lake had become his favorite place the minute he had discovered it. The water was (mostly) clear, which was surprising for so deep in the wood. It was surrounded by plants, except for one edge, which opened into a small clearing. Stiles had shown it to the pack, eventually, and it had quickly become a routine that, every full moon, once every wolf had acceptable control, they would come out to this spot and camp out for the night.

It didn’t happen as often in winter, only when Derek deemed it safe enough, but they would come out and set up a tent, or just sleeping bags, if it was summer, and build a camp fire, and the humans, or non-werewolves, would sit for the night by the fire, while the wolves ran free through the woods, playing and howling and laughing.

And when they’d tired themselves, and their wolves, out, they’d return to the campsite and curl up in the tent for sleep. It had been Lydia’s idea to buy one of those family size tents, so everyone could fit in. They used it during winter, and the non-werewolves would have their sleeping bags. During spring and autumn, they used the tent but filled it will cushions and pillows and blankets and just curl up in the mess.

During summer, they didn’t put up the tent, as it was usually too warm for that. Instead, they would spread a blanket out in the ground and crowd it with the same pillows and cushions and blankets. He and Allison and Lydia would still bring their sleeping bags, but that was mainly in case it started to rain when they were out there. The sleeping bags were made of a water-proof material and it would keep them dry enough and hot enough while they ran to the Hale house.

The lake also held special memories for Stiles because Derek had brought him here on his nineteenth birthday. They’d gone swimming in the lake together, built a campfire, cooked their dinner over it, laughed and talked. And then had had sex for the first time. A year to the day they’d first kissed.

Derek hadn’t known what to get Stiles for his nineteenth and all Stiles had asked for was him. So Derek had given himself to Stiles in every way. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Or some bullshit like that, anyway.

* * *

“I thought I might find you here.”

Stiles didn’t jump at the sound of Derek’s voice. He just attempted to skim another stone across the top of the lake. He never had gotten the hang of it.

“It’s my safe place,” he replied.

“I remember,” Derek shifted from leaning against the tree and approached Stiles before stopped as he realized what he’d said.

“I know what you meant,” Stiles assured, understanding the silence of the pause. “I guess, for a while, me and your Stiles were the same.”

_Or, at least, incredibly alike._

“You needed to breathe,” Derek said lowly.

“I always need to breathe,” Stiles replied, swiping another pebble from the ground. “One of the perks of being me. I always forget.”

Derek moved closer. “Are you okay?”

“Well, four days ago, I was wandering through a waste of Beacon Hills,” Stiles replied slowly. “So quiet I could hear the sound of my breathing echo. In the last three days, I’ve had two panic attacks, fainted twice and had a nightmare. I’m awesome.”

“Not many people would find that awesome.”

“Yeah, well, not many people have spent the last three and a half years turning into an inner zombie, you know? I’m just glad I’m not dead inside. Like I thought.”

Derek made a noise at the back of his throat. “So you and I were going to get married, huh?”

Stiles tried to skip the pebble but it hit the water and shot for the bottom of the lake. “No.”

“No?”

“I wanted you to be happy. I wanted your last thought to be a happy thought.”

“So you didn’t want to get married?”

“I never said that,” Stiles kicked the ground then turned to Derek. “I wanted to get married. We just promised that we would wait until I graduated college.”

“Did you?”

Stiles shook his head. “Besides, I stopped wanting to get married when Peter died. That’s when I figured out it was too late for marriage. You know, I never really understood what it was like to be immune the way a werewolf is immune.”

Derek frowned.

“I know, sudden change of subject. Bad habit. Point is, there was a time when this flu hit me and Lydia and Allison and it was kind of bad and all the werewolves were kind of pissed off because there was nothing you could do to help. You just had to stand and watch us hack up our lungs, while knowing that you were immune to this kind of thing.”

Derek nodded slowly.

“I remember, you felt really guilty. Something about how you had been around someone who was ill with the disease and it had been you who had brought the germs in. And you felt guilty because you should have been infected, and instead everyone else was. At least, the ones who were human. I called you an idiot, because there was nothing you could do about being immune. I guess I understand now.”

“You were immune to the virus.” Not a question, but a statement. Stiles nodded anyway.

“Just another perk of being me,” he said, his voice twisting with disgust.

“Maybe that’s why you’re Alpha,” Derek responded. Stiles shrugged.

“Maybe,” he turned away again. “I’ve considered it. Doesn’t change the fact it’s a fluke.”

Derek walked over to his side. “Doesn’t seem like it. Coming into power like you did, naturally. That’s not often a fluke.”

Stiles glanced at him. “I didn’t want to be Alpha.”

Derek shrugged, leaning down to grab a pebble. “Yeah, well, me neither.”

He stretched his wrist, then flicked it, sending the pebble skipping across the lake’s surface once, twice, three times. Stiles rolled his eyes, but a smile flickered briefly at his mouth.

Derek glanced at him, noting the faint smile.

“Show off,” Stiles muttered, searching the ground for his own pebble to skip, even though he was crap at it.

“Jealous,” Derek replied, as Stiles crouched to run his hands through the dirt, hoping to uncover the perfect stone.

There was a brief moment, where Stiles was reminded of all his moments with his own Derek, before he stood up, grinned then pelted Derek right in the face with a handful of dirt.

The look on Derek’s face sent him sprinting into the trees, his laughter echoing a little in the air around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a nice little scene between Stiles and Derek at the end.
> 
> He seems to be getting more comfortable around Derek, especially after the kiss. And Derek seems to be realizing that he's making a big deal out of the situation being awkward, when it really isn't at the moment.
> 
> Stiles may also be getting the two versions of Derek slightly overlapped but that will be explored in a later chapter with some more advice from Lydia.
> 
> At some point, in Stiles universe, he would have eventually managed to clear Beacon Hills of everyone and everything that wasn't him. Hence why Beacon Hills was so quiet.
> 
> It's not much of a secret anymore, but if you haven't figured it out yet, Stiles survived a zombie apocalypse. That's what the virus was, but more details to come.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while to spit out because I got distracted with creating a new RP blog. It's still a work in progress, but I managed to work this out around making the blog.
> 
> So I added a tag about **Suicidal Thoughts** which mostly refers to this chapter but there might be more on that later, who really knows? (Not me.)

“So was everything you said to Allison true?” Derek asked as they walked through the woods.

Stiles turned his gaze on Derek, his eyes flaring in anger. “Did it sound like I fucking lying!?”

“Hey,” Derek put his hands up in a loose surrender, “I’m not saying you were. I just wanted to make sure, that’s all.”

“Yes, it’s true,” Stiles’ voice hardened.

“That’s…shitty, huh?”

Stiles leveled him with a look. “Gee, you think?”

“Sorry, I’m trying,” Derek sighed. “This is hard.”

Stiles pressed his lips together. “Let me make it easy. I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it. I forget about it.”

Derek looked at him. “Wouldn’t that make it worse?”

“And how would it make it worse?” Stiles leveled him with another look that clearly said Derek should stop while he was still in Stiles’ good books. But Derek never had been good at reading Stiles, and certainly not listening to him.

“I never forget about the fire,” Derek said after a moment. “I don’t pretend to. I think about it every day. I just meant…doesn’t pretending it didn’t happen make it worse that accepting it did?”

“I could punch you right now,” Stiles snapped and the ice in his voice made Derek stop in surprise. “You think that I’m being, what, _selfish_? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Derek tried to backtrack quickly but it seemed the damage had already been done.

“I do think about it,” Stiles started. “All the time, every fucking day. I can’t help but think about it. Sometimes it’s all I think about. But back in my universe, back in my world? I couldn’t afford to think about it. Because I needed to survive.”

“Stiles,” Derek tried to cut in but he barreled on.

“I never forget. I can’t. I can try but I never will. Every time I close my eyes, I see your faces, right before you died. What you all looked like, what expression you had on. I remember the slick of everyone’s blood on my hands. I remember what a gun feels like, what pulling the trigger feels like. I remember the smell of blood, the taste of it when it was in the air. I remember what it feels like to have a body slump lifeless in your arms. I remember every second of killing each and every one of you.”

Derek looked at him for a moment.

“I have to try and forget,” Stiles continued, slower, quieter, “because if I remember, I won’t carry on. If I had really remembered, I would have put that bullet through my head a long time ago.”

Derek swallowed. “I didn’t know…”

Stiles shrugged. “Everyone had a way out.”

The air was somber, quiet and Derek didn’t like it. He cleared his throat. “So I think we should talk. Properly.”

“About what?”

“What happened the other day. When I kissed you.”

“Oh,” Stiles looked at him. “What about it?”

“I just wanted to say…If you want to forget about it, I don’t mind.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t want to forget about it.”

Another pause. Derek took a moment to process the answer.

“You don’t?”

Stiles didn’t answer straight away. “No. Why would I?”

“Because I’m not your mate. Not really.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just meant…It doesn’t seem to work like that. It seems to me that you and I…Stiles and Derek…whatever universe…whatever versions of us exist, we’re meant to be mates. So…this Stiles probably was your mate.”

A pause. “Maybe so…but it can’t have been great, since I’m not your version of your mate.”

Stiles shrugged again. “Maybe that kind of thing doesn’t matter to me. To be honest, I’m just glad to see you alive again. Even if you’re not my-my version of Derek.”

Derek glanced away. “I guess it doesn’t matter to me either.”

Stiles hesitated. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What?” Derek looked thrown off. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean…” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, never mind.”

Derek shook his head, reached out but pulled back. “What did you mean?”

Stiles sighed, staring at the ground because he couldn’t handle looking at Derek. “I had a relationship with a different version of you. I mean, what if I get it all mixed up? I probably will, I’m crazy and messed up in my head. I just…don’t want to hurt you.”

Derek watched him for a moment. “It would always be complicated. Your world, this one, it would be complicated anyway.”

Stiles kicked the ground a little. “I’m just…scared, I suppose.”

“Of what?” Derek pressed carefully. He remembered how hard it had always been for his version of Stiles to admit fear.

“Lots of things. I’m scared of waking up one day and finding myself back in that other world. Especially since I’ve been here…3 days. I’m scared I’m going to hurt someone. I almost hurt Scott this morning. With a knife. I’m scared of hurting you. I mean, what’s going to happen between us? Are we going to just leave it at one kiss, one time and move on? I don’t know if that’s what I want to happen. I don’t really know what I want anymore. I’m so messed up.” He sighed, shook his head. “Do you know what you want?”

“I thought I did,” Derek replied, as they started to walk again. “But then I saw you again and now I don’t know anymore.”

Stiles nodded, because he could understand, and they fell quiet as they walked through the woods.

“Allison didn’t mean what she said,” Derek spoke up after a while.

“I know,” Stiles replied. “To be honest, I probably needed that.”

Derek glanced at him questioningly.

“To be confronted like that,” Stiles elaborated. “Bottling stuff up, I had to do it to keep going, but it was bad. I needed to let it out, even if it was just for a few minutes. I feel better.”

Derek nodded, understanding him.

“Like, I don’t feel a lot better,” Stiles continued after a moment. “But a lot of what made me crazy was not dealing with what happened. I guess I feel a little clearer.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Derek said, as they finally came upon his car. “Just…”

_Broken._

Stiles glanced at him. “Well, I’m not exactly sane either.”

“You’re saner than I would have expected. Plus, you’re not as crazy as you seemed when you first got here. You were screaming at nothing, as I recall.”

“I was screaming at God, actually,” Stiles opened the door, probably harder than he intended to. “But, like everything else in my shitty life…He seems to have stopped listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a lot to say about this chapter, other than that I dislike it.
> 
> I think I'm losing steam with this story again. I'm going to try and stay on top of it, but, like I've recently stated, I have a new obsession with the Fast And Furious verse, so that has taken top spot in my thoughts. I currently have a piece for that fandom saved in drafts but I'm not sure when I might post it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated, I know. I lost muse for a while, kind of pulled back and focused on other fandoms. I recently read The Maze Runner and The Scorch Trials and watched the first movie, so I spent some time reading fanfictions. I also started reading some Thunderbirds fanfics - I had to retreat to fanfiction.net for that. I've been playing video games and watching movies and just not been there.
> 
> A large part of it is probably because what you see before you is a second attempt, not a first. I tried to write out a chapter where Stiles had a long conversation with himself, probably ending in an epiphany but it wasn't going well and I stumped. Then I sat down a couple of hours ago and started writing this and it took off. So have some pre-virus Sterek fluff memories. It's cute and longer than I planned.

Stiles’ sleep that night was without nightmares. But not in the same way as before. Before, he would have considered his sleep to be empty. It wasn’t restful, it wasn’t fitful, it wasn’t comforting. It was just sleep and he’d been surviving on hours at a time.

But that night, his sleep was long and deep and he awoke feeling…better. Rested. More energetic, more relaxed, and happy that he’d awoken in a soft bed with a solid ceiling above him.

Meaning he wasn’t back in his own world.

He went for a shower, not because he really needed it, but because he wanted to stand under the warm, steady water and feel happy that he could experience it again. Which only served to make him sad since he didn’t know how long he would be here or when he would be sent back to his own shower-less world.

He wandered downstairs. It seemed he was still in his habit of being up at dawn. Light was still creeping through the windows and the house was silent. When he and Derek had gotten back, Allison, Isaac and Peter had left. Scott had cleared it with both his mom and Lydia’s, so he was sleeping here, while Stiles was still sleeping there.

Point was, the house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. Except for Stiles.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, padding through the lounge. He hated the quiet in general, his life had been so silent on his own, but after three noise-filled days, his head was ringing. After near continuous silence for years, his ears had become sensitive to the slightest sound. It helped to detect when there were Infected near his camp, or when he wasn’t alone.

So these last few days, filled with more noise than he had been accustomed to, had been deafening. Not that Stiles was complaining, but it was a bit ‘too much too soon’.

So it was nice to experience the house in its pre-dawn calm.

He always did love the dawn. Before the virus. He enjoyed the beauty and the colors of the dawn and the dusk, the fire in the sky. It was soothing.

These days, when he really focused on it, he was reminded of a date he had with Derek. Well, it wasn’t so much a date as a night spent with him.

Derek didn’t really understand why Stiles loved it so much, but then again, neither did Stiles. It was something unexplainable, but he shared it with his mother. He could remember weekends where they would sit out in the garden and watch the sunset, or Stiles would run and wake up his mother and they would make breakfast while the dawn light filled the kitchen.

But there was this night. It was a half moon, as close to a full moon as Derek would allow, but Stiles didn’t have any complaints. Derek and Stiles went for a day trip to LA, did some shopping, sight-seeing, all the usual crap.

But that night, and Stiles never asked how, but that night, Derek took him up to the roof of some apartment building. They dragged blankets and cushions from the back of Stiles’ Jeep – the ones they used on full moons – and spread them out on the roof and just…spent the night there.

It was summer, and it was warm and cloudless and they watched the sunset and the sunrise and everything in between. It was nice and intimate and they talked, shared secrets, stories, dreams. Derek told him things he’d never told anyone else and Stiles talked about his mom, and Derek held him when he was crying.

Derek spoke some about the fire and mention how the colors in the sky made him uncomfortable because it looked like fire in the sky and Stiles soothed him, told him about the beauty he saw instead, how no two sunsets ever looked the same.

They passed some of the time by having sex, Stiles wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, but it was slow, intimate, soft. Derek mapped out Stiles’ body with his hands, made his boyfriend blush by comparing his moles to the stars in the sky above.

Stiles paid the same attention to Derek, using his mouth. He nibbled on his neck, sucking marks and trying not to feel too upset by how quick they faded. He traced patterns on Derek’s skin with his tongue, grazed his teeth where Derek was slightly more ticklish and sensitive, just to see him twitch, kissed where he knew there would be scars if Derek didn’t have werewolf healing.

He spent some of that attention on Derek’s back, particularly where his tattoo was, the black Triskelion that would one day mark Stiles’ left hip, although much smaller, as a sign that he and Derek belonged together.

Afterwards, they slept, Derek’s arms secure around Stiles, holding him like Stiles would disappear, Stiles’ head tucked into the crook of his neck, curled together. Stiles hated cheesy clichés but sometimes it felt like he and Derek were meant to fit together, like two puzzle pieces.

It reminded him of that Greek myth, about how humans were created with four arms, four legs, and four faces but Zeus deemed them too powerful so he separated them into two halves and scattered them across the world.

But when he and Derek fit together the way they did that night, it felt like two halves coming back together to create one. That was what it meant to be mates, he supposed.

That night had been one of the best of Stiles’ life and he had held onto it to the very last moment. That was his happy memory, his happy thought, as he’d killed Derek. And then it was tarnished.

But in the early light of this morning, the lounge in shades of orange through the light curtains, somehow it didn’t seem so bad.

In fact, it made Stiles smile as he thought about it. A happier time. A _simpler_ time, actually, when his head wasn’t spinning from being sent to another dimension to be faced with everyone who had once been dead in his life.

Stiles rummaged around the kitchen for keys to the back door, which led out onto a little porch, then some garden then a pool. When he couldn’t find any, he dug out some kitchen utensils and proceeded to, with some difficulty, pick the lock.

There was a slight chill in the air, but Stiles barely noticed it. He was used to it, after years of sleeping in trees and on roofs. The grass was damp as he stepped out, barefoot, but again he barely noticed it. He even went as far as to lie down on the grass, staring up at the sky streaked with fire, stretching out to watch the sunrise the best he could.

* * *

_“I’ll never understand why you like sunsets so much,” Derek chuckled as Stiles dragged him out into the yard – because it couldn’t be classed as a garden until he put the fence up – to watch the sunset, as usual._

_Derek had built a bench for that exact purpose, so they sat on it like they did nearly every night Stiles was there to make Derek watch the sunset._

_Stiles shrugged, leaning against him. “They’re pretty.”_

_“I suppose,” Derek looked up at the sky, but winced a little at the red and orange colors. It reminded him a little too much of fire._

_Stiles turned his head to kiss Derek’s shoulder, albeit through the t-shirt he was wearing. Stiles had the uncanny ability to read Derek even when he wasn’t looking at the man._

_“I don’t really know,” Stiles continued after a few minutes. “There’s just something about them that’s nice and relaxing, I guess. Like I can be really mad or really upset or something, but looking at a sunset will always bring a smile to my face. There’s just something about the beauty of it.”_

_Derek nodded slowly. He was well-aware of how good a sunset made Stiles feel._

_“I know I drag you out here to watch them with me,” Stiles continued and Derek started to frown, “but if you don’t want to watch them, then I’ll stop. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”_

_Scratch that last part; Stiles couldn’t read Derek at all._

_“Don’t be stupid, Stiles,” Derek sighed, before quickly amending it to ‘silly’. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me out here if I didn’t want to watch it with you. I want to share your passions with you, and I know how much you love sunsets. You have to suffer through my history obsession.”_

_“That’s different. I asked to share that with you.”_

_“And I would ask to share this with you, if I wasn’t already.”_

_They both had moments like this. Where they doubted themselves and how the other felt about them. Stiles was doubting that Derek wanted to spend time with him, share this thing with him. It was insecurities and Derek hated that he couldn’t do anything to stop them. There was no one to kill because Stiles generated these doubts himself. Stiles felt the same about Derek._

_Stiles pulled his legs up, curling up on the bench. Derek moved his arm and Stiles leaned back, like he thought Derek was going to move. Derek instead wrapped his arm around his boyfriend and pulled him back down, holding him close._

_“You’re being silly,” Derek murmured, turning his head so his breath tickled Stiles’ ear. He fought back a smile at the way Stiles’ squirmed. “I like watching sunsets with you. While you watch the sunset, I watch you.”_

_“I thought we discussed this, Derek,” Stiles’ voice was tinged with humor. “Staring’s creepy.”_

_“You look at sunsets because they’re beautiful,” Derek glanced up at the sky again. It didn’t seem so bad when he could feel the warmth of Stiles’ skin at his side, reassuring him. “So I look at you because you’re beautiful.”_

_Stiles’ shoulders began to shake with laughter. “That’s so cheesy,” he murmured. But Derek could tell he was blushing._

_“Good,” he responded, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ hair, the only place he could reach without moving or disturbing Stiles._

_Stiles almost melted into his side. “Love you,” he whispered, as Derek’s fingers smoothed up and down his arm._

_“Love you too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memory at the end is set after the night in LA but before Stiles and Derek moved in together. Stiles spent a lot of nights at the Hale house, which he convinced, and then helped, Derek to rebuild.
> 
> Stiles doesn't like the word 'stupid'. Something along the lines of being bullied and called stupid before his ADHD was diagnosed, because he had the concentration problems.
> 
> The love of sunsets is one that I, and many of my characters, share. It is what created the rooftop date, and I just love the idea for Derek and Stiles.
> 
> I took liberties with Lydia's house - it was an alternate timeline, her house could have been different - and the Greek myth - I'm not particularly familiar with it.
> 
> I started getting all teary because I did some digging and came up with this: Stiles and Derek probably would have danced to ' _The Power Of Love_ ' if they'd gotten married. But instead Stiles ended up playing ' _My Heart Will Go On_ ' when he buried Derek. I know that's the _Titanic_ song but it fits. But expect a sad chapter to come soon.
> 
> There's also ' _Never Tear Us Apart_ ' by Paloma Faith and ' _Iris_ ' by the Goo Goo Dolls.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I posted the first chapter of a new fanfiction earlier tonight so I decided to go ahead and be motivated and give you a new chapter of this one.
> 
> If you haven't read the other one, then I'll say the same thing I said over there: the reason for my absence is that I got distracted with some TV shows, games and, most of all, one of my characters, Sparrow, who doesn't have a fandom but may pop up in any Thunderbirds fanfiction I may write. However, the main project around her is the books I'm trying to write, so I've been working on that lately.
> 
> Anyway, here's a new chapter. I still don't know where this one is going to end but I hope to finish it soon, so I can focus on others. I was definitely thinking of making a sequel, maybe a prequel but that wouldn't be for a while.
> 
> I can't promise when the next chapter of this one will be up but there will be other chapters (of my new one) and works, hopefully going up over the rest of this week.

“Morning.”

Stiles opened his eyes to see Lydia frowning over him, but there was a smile playing at her lips.

“Still?” he replied and she snorted.

“Aren’t you cold? The grass is wet.”

Stiles pushed himself up and shrugged. “Not really. Don’t notice it much.”

Lydia offered her hand and Stiles grasped it, pulling himself to his feet.

“How long were you out here?”

“Dunno,” Stiles shrugged. “Since dawn? I must have fallen asleep after. I was watching the sky,” he waved his hand upwards. “I’ve always found sunrise to be calming."

Lydia raised her eyebrows then shook her head. “It’s strange. I know you’re from another universe, but sometimes I just…forget.”

Stiles looked questioningly at her. “I know. I get that too sometimes. Especially around Derek.”

“He mentioned,” she replied. “About your conversation the other day. But I meant…the Stiles I used to know never really cared for that. Sunrise and sunsets.”

“I’m beginning to notice those kinds of differences myself. I guess it really proves the alternate universe story and I just didn’t end up in some crazy nightmare for five years while you guys thought I was dead.”

Lydia tilted her head at him. He shrugged.

“All possibilities were being considered.”

“Derek and the others are here, by the way,” Lydia changed the subject. “That’s why I came to wake you up. Kind of had us panicked, we thought you were still in your room.”

“Sorry, I got used to waking up at dawn. I kind of walked around, did some thinking, then sat out here. Guess I was still tired.”

“Maybe you’re just sleeping off the last five years,” she replied, hooking her arm through his and pulling him into the house. “There’s someone else here to see you.”

For a moment, Stiles froze, wondering if it was his dad. Lydia almost stumbled at his sudden stop, turning to look at him.

“Stiles?” she asked softly. “It’s not…your dad, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not ready,” he shook his head. “To see him. Who is it?”

“Melissa McCall. Scott let her know what was happening and she insisted on coming here. I think it’s to check that you were telling the truth, but also to check you over. For injuries. We probably should have done that earlier to be honest.”

Stiles glanced at her and smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I learnt how to patch myself up a long time ago. I wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t.”

“Still,” Lydia responded, “now you have proper, clean medical supplies. And a nurse.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt. It’s been a while since I saw anyone with any kind of medical training.”

“Come on, you can have something to eat first then let her look at you,” Lydia replied. “So you can adjust.”

“You’re a really good friend,” Stiles smiled warmly at her before heading into the kitchen. He hesitated briefly at the door, but took a deep breath and pushed himself to go on. He couldn’t delay this. If he didn’t do it now, he might never do it.

He was prepared for the rush of emotion at setting his eyes on Melissa McCall sitting at the kitchen table, talking with Scott. Still, if it hadn’t been for Lydia, he might have turned and walked right back out. But he stepped forward instead.

Melissa turned when she saw Scott looking at something over her shoulder. Someone who looked an awful lot like Stiles was standing in the doorway.

“Stiles?” her eyes were filling with tears.

“M-Melissa,” he stuttered a little. He could feel the memories stirring in the back of his mind.

She stood slowly and walked towards him, like she was making sure he was real. Then in one swift movement, she pulled him into a tight hug.

* * *

_Scott’s hand was shaking as he aimed the gun at his mother on the floor._

_“Scott, you have to do it,” Melissa was saying, as she covered the bite wound on her shoulder. Her arm was soaked in blood. Her eyes filled with tears. “Scott, please.”_

_Stiles took a step towards his best friend, who was openly crying as he released the safety on the gun. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pull the trigger._

_“I can’t,” his hand shook violently. “Mom, I-”_

_“Scott,” Stiles intervened quickly, covering Scott’s hands with his own. “It’s okay.”_

_Scott looked at him, his vision blurred, tears streaking down his cheeks. “No, I have to-”_

_“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered, trying to ease the gun from Scott’s grip. "Scott."_

_Scott nodded slowly and and let it go. Stiles was his Alpha, he would make it all okay._

_Not that anything could ever be okay again._

_Scott stepped back and turned away, covering his ears. Stiles took the gun, took a deep breath and crouched down in front of Melissa._

_“It’s okay,” Melissa’s voice was choked as she repeated Stiles’ words back to him. “Stiles, it’s okay. Do it.”_

_Stiles’ hands were shaking as he aimed the gun at his best friend’s mother. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “I wish-I’m so sorry.”_

_“I don’t blame you,” Melissa cut him off. “I forgive you. Both of you. I’m so proud of you both, I am.” She looked at Scott and the tears started to spill over. “I love you, Scott, and I am proud of you. This isn’t your fault.” She looked back to Stiles, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “Stiles, you are so brave. I know your mother would be so proud. Don’t you ever doubt that, do you hear me?”_

_Stiles nodded, stifling a sob of his own. She reached out to wipe his tears and he flinched slightly at the touch. She nodded too._

_“You’re a good Alpha,” she told him. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, you hear me?”_

_Stiles nodded, covering her hand with his own._

_“And Stiles? Look after him for me, will you?”_

_“I will, I promise,” Stiles squeezed her hand._

_“Do it,” she whispered._

_Stiles pulled the trigger._

_And Scott flinched._

* * *

Stiles had tears falling down his cheeks when he abruptly pulled away from the hug. Melissa looked faintly hurt but it cleared as she seemed to realize what was wrong. Scott moved to touch him but she held him back.

“It’s okay,” she told him before turning to Stiles. “Stiles, it’s okay. Do you hear me? It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stumbled back a bit, hitting the counter. “I’m so sorry. I promised. I promised. And I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Stiles,” Melissa stepped towards him. Lydia moved over to Scott, looking worried. “Listen to me. I forgive you, okay? You didn’t fail.”

Stiles curled into himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach. Melissa moved towards him slowly, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Stiles, I don’t blame you.”

Stiles blinked at her through his tears and kind of crumpled to the floor, nodding slowly. Melissa crouched with him.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, relaxing a little as she knew she was getting through to him. “You’re okay.” Stiles was nodding. She shifted closer to Stiles, slowly drawing him back into a loose hug. Luckily, Stiles curled into it, clinging to her. Melissa soothed him, glancing towards Scott and Lydia, and Derek, who was in the corner.

After what Scott had told her, she didn’t have to wonder about what had caused this to happen to Stiles. None of them did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys check out my Fast and Furious fanfiction? I was thinking of adding another chapter maybe, but I still quite like it as the one chapter.
> 
> Either way, if you like the movies enough to take a look at it, it would be much appreciated. Thanks, guys
> 
> Stay cool, cats.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I would start work on this chapter as soon as I had posted the next one for _Circle Backwards_. Well, I told the readers of my new fanfic that I would post a chapter of this one next, because it will be a while before I can post chapter four of my other one.
> 
> I also mentioned that I would be rewriting and reposting True Identity, hopefully finishing the series this time. The original works will remain but will not be the official series.
> 
> Mentions of torture in this chapter. There's no description of the torture that was suffered, but it is mentioned in the way that the character says 'I was tortured'.
> 
> Vague references to suicide. No one actual says the words or talks about it, it's just hinted at, implied.

It took Stiles a while to come back from the flashback.

For a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he was curled up on Lydia’s kitchen floor with Melissa McCall’s arms wrapped around him, but then it came back to him.

He swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat raw, his chest sore. All the signs that he’d been crying. His breathing was slightly erratic too, but he hadn’t worked himself into a panic attack which was something of a bonus.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Melissa’s voice tickled his ear. His flashback flickered at the edge of his vision, but this time he was able to push it away.

He slowly pulled away from Melissa, pushing himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady but he waved away any attempts to help him.

“It’s okay,” he assured the people in the room, seeing the concern in their faces. “I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?” Lydia asked softly.

“Flashback,” he replied. “To the day, when I killed…your mom,” he nodded at Scott before turning to Melissa, who was looking faintly shocked. “What has Scott told you?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” she replied. “Certainly not that you have PTSD.”

“I didn’t know,” Scott protested.

“I hadn’t told anyone,” Stiles agreed. “To be honest, I thought it would have just…gone. It’s been a long time since I suffered from it.”

Melissa nodded slowly. “Doesn’t mean it disappeared. It’s an illness, Stiles. And it went untreated. The symptoms may have receded briefly but clearly the stress of waking up in an alternate universe caused it to flare up.”

Stiles looked like he knew all of this. Because he did. He’d been friendly, in the beginning with a few doctors and even a scientist, so he’d talked to them about his illness and such. But he nodded at Melissa’s words.

“Are you hungry?” Scott asked, after a few seconds of silence.

“Starving,” Stiles nodded. “Do you have any bread? I really want toast.”

Scott smiled faintly. “Cut into triangles with the butter melted into it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded. _One point for the similarities._

“After, I can take a look at you,” Melissa offered. “After what you’ve been through, it would be good to make sure that you’re physically okay.”

“Lydia said,” Stiles replied. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

She nodded and sat back down at the kitchen table.

* * *

“Are you ready?”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “For what?”

“The check-up? Melissa’s set up in the lounge.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

Stiles had returned to sit outside, with his breakfast, just needing a little space. Derek had joined him for a little while, and they’d sat in silence, until Derek had disappeared to help with dishes.

“Better now than never, right?” Stiles added, accepting the hand Derek offered to help him.

“When was the last time someone looked at you?”

“Years,” Stiles replied honestly. “I’ve been patching myself up for a while. I stopped trusting other people.”

Derek nodded but he didn’t really understand. He understood that Stiles stopped trusting people but he didn’t understand why, because Stiles hadn’t told him that part.

They headed into the house and through to the lounge. Derek moved to sit on the couch, next to Scott. There had been some debate about having the other three present during the examination but Stiles had shut it down by saying that, not only had they already seen what was under his shirt, Melissa was also going to mention some things that they all deserved to hear about.

“Do you guys want to call the pack?” he asked quickly. “I mean, I said you should all hear it. That meant everyone.”

“We don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Scott replied. “We can call them later to hear it, but let’s just do the examination first.”

Stiles nodded and slowly pulled off his shirt. Only Melissa looked particularly shocked, as the others had known what to prepare themselves.

“Stiles,” Melissa looked at him. Stiles tensed.

She was going to say something about how he looked. But she seemed to change her mind at last minute and said something else.

“I didn’t think you liked needles.”

Stiles snorted faintly. “It’s not that kind of tattoo. My animals were applied with a needle, but the rest of it,” he traced his finger along one of the patterns and it faded, “it’s just a magic spell. To hide the scars. That’s what all the black pattern is.”

Lydia leaned forward curiously.

“It was suggested to me when someone realized my magic was getting too unstable. And I was feeling…self-conscious. About how I looked.”

Melissa nodded. “Can I see? Without the tattoos?”

Stiles hesitated but tapped out a pattern on the skin of his hip. Bit by bit the black ink faded, following the pattern it traced on his skin.

Melissa took a look at his scars. He had no recent wounds so there was nothing she needed to check for an infection or anything. Stiles twitched; her hands were cool as they prodded gently at his scars. There were bite marks, which she seemed to hesitate over, he could tell.

“Stiles,” her voice was soft, careful. “These look like torture marks.”

Stiles’ mouth flicked into a brief smile. “People were angry.”

* * *

“What happened is, this virus spread around the world. Airborne. Lotta people got infected. Anyone who was a supernatural being got infected and died. Werewolves, vampires, Banshees. All of them got infected and died. Without fail. Except for witches, because apparently there was something in the magic we used that made us immune.”

Stiles’ face screwed up at the word. The werewolves in the room looked aptly sympathetic.

“But not every human got infected. There were a lot of reasons. Some had retreated into safety, hiding, when the virus became a serious. Others just weren’t infected when it was airborne.”

“How does this lead to you being tortured?” Allison asked. She had become friendlier towards Stiles since their argument. Apparently, she had been bottling things up too and it had helped her just as much as it had helped him.

“Word started to spread, after the virus vanished, of people who were immune. I’m immune. I came across this group of people who had lost a lot to the virus. They were angry.”

“So they tortured you?” Scott looked disgusted.

“Well, I didn’t realize at first, but they were _really_ angry. At the virus and, in particular, at people who were immune to the virus. So when they found out I was immune, well, they…”

“They wanted to know how,” Derek finished quietly when Stiles trailed off. Isaac, in particular, looked distressed at this piece of information and both Allison and Scott moved to comfort him. Stiles nodded.

“I didn’t really trust anyone again after that. I couldn’t afford to.”

He sat down heavily and Derek reached to squeeze his hand.

“I guess the world went through the stages of grief, you know?” Stiles continued after a moment. “When the virus first happened, a lot of people were in denial until it hit them. After it had gone, people were angry. At the virus, at the governments for deserting them, and some were angry at the Immunities. Then we kind of went into a bargaining stage, I suppose. You heard stories of sacrifices to Gods, in other places, so they would get help and be free of the curse. I even came across a group once, where they believed, for some reason, that if they fed the Infected one person a day, they would be left alone. Like the saying, an apple a day keeps the doctor away. After a while, everyone just sank into a depression. It just became about surviving. That stage came about roughly around the time food and medicine and important supplies in general started to run out. I guess we never reached the acceptance. Although, some people did…accept their fate. By walking out into a hoard. But that was part of the depression.”

Everyone was listening intently. This was the most Stiles had ever talked about what had happened to him.

“Where did the virus come from?” Scott asked.

“No one knows. It just appeared one day, randomly. You started hearing about mass deaths in China, Russia. When it got to Europe and Africa, that’s when people in America started to panic. The virus was coming, and it was coming fast.”

“What happened?”

“It hit us and then vanished. Three months, it had spread around the world and then it was gone. People had theories. Some thought it might have been aliens. Others thought it was their God, punishing us for ruining the planet. Some even thought it was the Government, all of them in the world as a whole. They thought it was contingency plan for over-population. Send out the virus, wipe out a couple of billion and eradicate it like it never existed. But they lost control and it got out of hand. That’s why they didn’t help. It was on them.”

“What did you think?” Allison asked. Stiles shook his head.

“I didn’t care. I was immune. The virus was the least of my worries. All I wanted was to keep going. Which I managed. After a while.”

“Can you tell us more?” Scott asked.

Stiles shook his head. “Not right now. I…It still pretty hard to think about. Even being here now. I’m clearly suffering from PTSD, I don’t want to focus too hard on it. Maybe later.”

“Hey, maybe we could watch a film and take your mind off things?” Lydia suggested. Stiles smiled at her gratefully.

“Sounds pretty awesome. Can’t remember the last time I watched TV, never mind a film.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Stiles smiled again. “Best get started then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge insight into the other universe in this chapter. Hope it's easy to understand. I tried to keep it simple.
> 
> When he removes his tattoos, the three animals remain. They are probably 'sleeping' during the examination.
> 
> I googled the five stages of grief for Sparrow and ended up using it here.
> 
> The Immunities is the name given to the people who were immune. Like some people called the zombies The Infected or Risers or Walkers - depended on who you were and what kind of zombie you were facing. And ordinary people were Breathers or Beaters - like heartbeat, heart-beaters - or just Survivors.
> 
> Zombies differentiated depending on what creature they had been before death. Like werewolf or vampire or Banshee.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is [always-a-friend-never-a-lover](http://always-a-friend-never-a-lover.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I have two new accounts, RPs for my [OC](http://brokenlittletoy.tumblr.com/) and for [Stiles](http://runxwithwolves.tumblr.com/), if you're interested in what I've been doing. You can blame this for my lack of fanfiction lately (I'm also a serious procrastinator :( ).
> 
> If you want to know what's happening with [True Identity](http://archiveofourown.org/series/80047), please ask.


End file.
